Harry Potter and the Two Heirs of Slytherin
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: First year was bad enough. Second year is worse. Kidnappings, Horcruxes, ancient secrets, prophecies... oh, and Tom Riddle's return. Again. Yep, second year is definitely worse. Book 2 of the Saga of the Lightning Speaker.
1. Homecomings and Houseelves

I'm back!

Harry's first year was complicated and traumatic enough. This year, he has to deal with kidnappings, two Heirs of Slytherin, Saysa's prophecies, and Daphne Greengrass. I have so many plans for Daphne.

* * *

_For in vain is the net baited _

_While the bird is looking on._

-Proverbs 1:17

Hogsmeade Station was filled to bursting. Schoolchildren shouted greetings and goodbyes to one another, their voices blending into an unintelligible cacophony. Owls, tired and irate, hooted impatiently. Cats hissed, fluffing up and glaring at one another. Toads croaked. Occasionally the chaos was interrupted by the blaring of a train.

Remus Lupin flinched as the Hogwarts Express called out again. His ears had always been sensitive; now it seemed their acuity was getting even worse. The werewolf longed to cover his ears, but he was all too conscious of the Aurors guarding him. He did not want to face another snide comment about how "dogs have great hearing."

Unable to suppress a flinch, he glanced around the station again, searching for a head of wild dark hair. Nothing. Remus shifted uncomfortably, wishing that Harry would come soon. He could feel the students' eyes boring into his skull.

The problem was, everyone in Hogwarts knew that Harry Potter had voluntarily- _voluntarily!_- begun living with a werewolf guardian. They also knew that no Auror would let a werewolf enter King's Cross Station- after all, he might go on a bloodthirsty rampage against defenseless Muggles. The smarter ones had taken this information and reasoned that aforementioned werewolf would have to pick Harry up at Hogsmeade.

Remus shifted again. It really hadn't been too difficult to pick him out of the crowd- most of the adults present were teachers or the residents of Hogsmeade. Coupled with his shabby, vaguely disreputable appearance and the two Aurors flanking him… well, his identity was fairly obvious.

What was keeping Harry?

"Mr. Lupin?" asked a boy's voice. Remus turned around, saw a twelve-year-old black boy, tall for his age, still dressed in the uniform of Slytherin House. The werewolf recognized him: Blaise Zabini, one of Harry's closest friends. He liked Blaise. Blaise wasn't afraid of him.

The young Slytherin seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Hey, Mr. Lupin."

"Er… hey yourself, Blaise."

Blaise's dark eyes met Remus' own amber orbs. "D'you know what happened?" he demanded.

Remus nodded. Everyone knew about how Voldemort had broken into Hogwarts and tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. Details were sketchy, but everyone agreed that he'd been stopped- by Mark Potter, Harry's twin brother.

Blaise sighed, dropping his eyes. "Harry hasn't been taking it well," he cautioned. "He's been… I don't know what's wrong, exactly- he won't talk to me- but I know he hasn't been sleeping well. I think he's been having nightmares. And I know that he and Mark got into a huge row- Mark claims that Harry didn't visit him once when he was recovering from You-Know-Who in the hospital wing. Harry did visit, of course. I even went with him once or twice, but Mark…." The boy's face hardened. "I personally think it's a ploy to save face. If the evil Slytherin twin didn't visit his perfectly Gryffindor brother, who can blame Mark for abandoning him?"

"What?" Remus asked blankly.

"Mark had to stay in the hospital wing because he was wounded while fighting You-Know-Who. Harry-"

"No," Remus interrupted, "I understood that part. But… are they even speaking?"

"Nope," sneered Blaise. "Mark doesn't want to listen to Harry's 'dirty Slytherin lies.' Harry's been trying to start up a conversation, but…" He shrugged helplessly.

The train whistled again, this time more insistently. Remus jumped, his hands moving involuntarily for his ears. That _hurt! _

Blaise's eyes widened. "I think I have to board now, Mr. Lupin," he said quickly.

The werewolf nodded. "Have a good summer, Blaise."

The boy didn't answer; he had already vanished into the crowd, leaving Remus alone with his thoughts.

He couldn't believe it. Remus had always liked Harry better than Mark- of course, he was slightly prejudiced, being Harry's godfather- but Mark hadn't seemed the kind of person who would abandon his brother. But, the wizard reflected, I'm not a good judge of character. Sirius fooled me, too.

He sighed heavily- and nearly jumped out of his skin as the train whistled again.

He couldn't wait for Harry to arrive.

* * *

It was good to be out of Hogwarts.

Harry breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh summer air. The chatter of his schoolmates, the screeching of the train, and the noises of the pets all washed over his head. He didn't notice them.

"**Harry!" **wailed a voice. Harry grinned; he knew that Sisith hated loud noises. The young Parselmouth took out his wand, pointed it at the pocket where the serpent hid, and mumbled, _"Muffliato." _The serpent's relief was almost palpable.

Harry's deep green eyes peered around the crowded station, searching for his godfather and guardian. He placed his wand away, instinctively feeling for the other object in that pocket. A hard shape greeted his hand; the Sorcerer's Stone was safe. He shivered slightly, remembering what he'd gone through to earn it. Mark's body splayed on the floor, Voldemort's demonic eyes on the wrong side of his skull… and the horrifying revelation that Voldemort was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle, whose memories Harry himself possessed.

The memories had been benign at first, even helpful. Of course, then he hadn't even realized that they were memories. Harry had thought that the Sorting Hat had somehow imparted all its knowledge into his mind, giving him an amazing repertoire of spells, hexes, and magical lore. Months later, when he'd finally realized the memories' true nature, he'd only known that they belonged to Tom Marvolo Riddle, a brilliant Slytherin from the 1940s. All the memories Harry had received at that point had been from Riddle's school years.

Now, though, he was beginning to remember other things. It was almost as though knowing Tom's other name had unplugged a dam; horrible memories haunted his dreams, flashed through his waking thoughts. Harry often longed for a Dreamless Sleep potion, but knew far too well that he had to deal with these images with his own strength.

His strength was already taxed to the limit. What child could witness the death of his parents through their killer's eyes, time after time after time?

But he had made his peace with those images, or at least tried to. It was hard, of course, but- he tried. Was trying. That had to count for something.

Right?

Harry sighed. Who was he kidding? He was on the road to acceptance, but that road was filled with bumps and potholes. Sometimes he could almost see the end; sometimes, the road seemed endless.

Today was an endless day. He both dreaded and longed for his meeting with Remus. Seeing the werewolf would remind him of his parents- and of the werewolves Voldemort had recruited.

Harry shuddered slightly as Fenrir Greyback's face flashed through his mind. Enough wasting time, he told himself. Are you going to actually find him, or will you just stand here like a useless lump?

"Remus! Re-mus!"

"Harry!" his godfather's warm voice called back. The boy's answering grin was forced. He would _not _let Voldemort's memories spoil this reunion. He would _not._

The werewolf stiffened at Harry's approach, his jaw clenched in concentration. Harry slowed, concerned. He'd almost forgotten the bizarre effect he had on werewolves: for some reason, his presence seemed to rouse their inner beast. He had no idea why; perhaps it was because he was a Parselmouth. But that was unlikely. Voldemort was a Parselmouth too, and Fenrir Greyback's pack had never reacted like this to him.

No. He was not going to think about them. He wasn't going to think about anything except how wonderful the summer would be. Remus knew how to make the Animagus Potion, and Blaise's mother was getting married, and he could visit Saysa the basilisk and Norberta the dragon as much as he wanted.

Remus smiled tightly. Apparently he'd gotten the wolf under control again. "Ready to go, Harry?" he asked kindly.

The boy nodded, grinning. It _would _be a good summer.

"Do you want me to carry something?"

"Er- no thanks." Remus frowned slightly. "Maybe Hedwig will want to go with you." The owl hooted in agreement. Werewolf and wizard smiled. The road shortened.

Maybe, Harry thought wonderingly, it really would be a good summer.

* * *

Dobby the house-elf had not been looking forward to the summer. Mistress Cissy was sometimes lenient when her husband and son were absent, and that leniency had appeared more often while Master Draco was off at school. Now that Master Draco was back, though, he could expect the days of relative ease to end.

Head hanging low, the house-elf expertly wove through the parlor, deftly balancing a tray of tea and cakes above his pointed ears. Mistress Cissy liked the little lemon bars. Master Lucius liked the Darjeeling tea. Hopefully these treats would assuage them for a little while, at least.

Unfortunately, it did not look very likely. Master Lucius' face was angry. Dobby's ears fell.

At the moment, the two Malfoys were discussing punishment for their son. Standing there with the tea tray, Dobby learned that Master Draco had gotten worse grades than someone called Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born (Dobby refused to use the word Mudblood. If all masters were like his masters, being pureblooded didn't deserve respect! Of course, now he would have to go step on broken glass again…).

Dobby already liked this Granger girl.

The wizards' conversation quickly developed into long soliloquies about how Muggle-borns were destroying the Wizarding World. Dobby hoped they would destroy it (oh, more broken glass).

"Something needs to be done," Master Lucius concluded quietly. His cold gray eyes stared at the cooling Darjeeling.

Dobby suppressed a groan. It sounded like Master Lucius had a plan. Mistress Cissy thought so too. "What are you plotting?" she asked quietly.

Master Lucius looked up. "It has been over ten years since the Dark Lord fell," he said slowly. "Ten long years."

Mistress Cissy nodded, not seeming particularly impressed. "I know this."

"Do you remember, Narcissa, what he gave to me just a few months before he fell?"

Her brow furrowed. "Yes. A small blank book, innocuous enough, but powerfully enchanted." She frowned. "If it were sent to Hogwarts, it would reopen the Chamber of Secrets."

Dobby suppressed a gasp. The Chamber! He had heard dozens of stories about it, each more unlikely than the last, but all the stories agreed on one fact: if the Chamber of Secrets were opened, Hogwarts would be purged of Muggle-borns. It would be genocide!

Master Lucius, though, didn't seem to care. In fact, he was smiling! "Perhaps when the Chamber is opened, the monster will destroy that thrice-cursed Mark Potter as well," he mused.

"And his brother," murmured Mistress Cissy. "The boy is a disgrace to Slytherin House."

"Yes," agreed Master Lucius. "Perhaps then Draco will regain his power." He reached for the teapot, frowned. It was empty. "Dobby! More Darjeeling!"

The house-elf jumped. He'd been so intent on the wizards' conversation that he'd completely forgotten about his duties. "Y-yes, Master," he mumbled, wondering how to punish himself for this. "Right away, Master." He scurried off to the kitchen, hands shaking.

Over the next few days, Dobby turned his attention to Master Draco. The young master was sullen and ill-tempered, having been grounded in punishment for his academic defeat. The boy would often complain to his servant about the injustice of life: about Harry Potter, Mark Potter, Mudbloods tarnishing the "good Malfoy name" (like it needed to be tarnished!), anything and everything. It was a measure of his irritation that he said so much. Dobby remained quiet and attentive, soaking up every fact about Mark Potter that he could.

When Dobby learned that Mark Potter was staying in Hogwarts for the summer, he couldn't suppress a cry of despair. Master Draco simply glared at him. "Go iron your ears, elf," he ordered coldly. Dobby mumbled something about obeying the young master and ran off to do so. The House Oaths which bound him were heavy as chains.

Later that night, his ears burnt and bandaged, the house-elf jerked up. Hadn't Master Draco mentioned a brother?

He had to learn where the brother lived.

* * *

"You're _sure_ this is right?" Harry asked nervously, staring at the putrid potion in front of him.

Remus nodded. "Positive. Your father and… Sirius… wondered that too, at this stage. This is actually how I found out they were trying to become Animagi. They wanted to keep it a surprise, but I was much better at Potions than they were, so when it looked like the Potion wasn't going well, they came to me for help." He chuckled slightly. "I made them go through every single step five or six times, trying to figure out what went wrong, before we finally realized that it was _supposed_ to look this way."

His godson still seemed dubious. "If you say so, Remus." He glanced at the… thing… in the cauldron, then at his godfather. "What next?"

Remus looked back into the book, a birthday present from James. His amber eyes scanned the instructions carefully. "It looks like nothing. The potion should 'remain heated for two moons, stirred every twilight.' Remind me to st-"

_Pop! _

In an instant, the two wizards were on their feet. Harry's wand materialized in his hand, pointing threateningly in the direction of the sound. Remus' wand was in the Auror barracks, but he would not be helpless. His inner wolf rose up, snarling protectively. Moony would not let this cub be harmed!

Softly, stealthily, he padded towards the noise. None were allowed in his den, none but himself and his guests! Whoever had made that sound was an invader, a threat, and he would-

No! What was he doing? Remus froze as the wolf retreated, stomach and fists clenching. It had always shown an unhealthy interest in Harry- that was why they were making the Animagus Potion- but it had never been this bad.

There was no doubt about it. His problem was getting worse. Much worse, and quickly.

"Remus? You okay?"

He started. "Yes. Just… you stay behind. It's probably just Tyr, but…"

"It's not Tyr," Harry muttered.

"Harry Potter?" called a voice. "Harry Potter?"

Godfather and godson exchanged glances. They had expected stealth, not openness. "D'you know that voice?" Harry whispered. Remus shook his head. The boy raised his voice. "Stay where you are, and keep your hands up!"

"Give me your wand, Harry," Remus ordered. The boy looked startled. "I know more defensive spells than you. Give me your wand." For a second, the child looked amused, but he handed the object over.

It was with some consternation that the two realized all their preparations had been for a small, raggedy-looking house-elf. He was dressed in what appeared to be a large pillowcase. Big green eyes watched them warily. "You… you is Harry Potter? Mark Potter's brother?"

"Er- yes," replied Harry, looking just as nonplussed as Remus felt. "And you would be…?"

The elf's already bulbous eyes widened. "Harry Potter treats Dobby as an equal?"

"Of course," Remus butted in. Dobby blinked blankly at him. "Ah- I'm Remus Lupin. Harry's godfather." He held out his hand.

Dobby burst into tears. "Remus Lupin treats Dobby as an equal! Oh, Remus Lupin is a great and kind wizard!"

Remus began to worry about the poor thing's sanity. Harry shot him a bemused look. "No offense, Dobby-" ("Harry Potter is not wishing to offend Dobby! Harry Potter is as great and good as his brother!") "-but house-elves aren't exactly common here. Why exactly have you come?" He sighed at Dobby's tears. It seemed the elf was a bit too emotional to respond. "Remus, do you have a hankie?" That, of course, set Dobby off again.

The threesome made a bizarre sight: a werewolf, a wizard, and a hysterical house-elf sitting at Remus' scarred old table. It sounded like a bad joke.

"Dobby has come to warn you," the house-elf finally announced.

Harry's eyes sharpened, but it was Remus who answered. "Warn us about what?"

"Warn my brother about what?" Harry asked quietly. Dobby jumped. "Yes, I know that part of your message, at least, is for Mark."

"Dobby… Dobby has a warning," the elf repeated. "Harry Potter must take his brother out of Hogwarts! Mark Potter _must not go to Hogwarts._"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why not?" Remus felt a bit left out. He settled back to watch the encounter.

Dobby shuddered. "Bad things will happen this year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter sir. Very bad things. Harry Potter must take his brother out of Hogwarts before it is too late!"

"It's a bit late for that," Harry observed wryly. "And anyways, why should I trust you? Mark just defeated Voldemort-" Dobby shuddered "-again a few weeks ago. His Death Eaters wouldn't want him in school- much easier to get him if he's outside."

Poor Dobby looked ready to faint. "Dobby did not- Dobby would not- Mark Potter is in danger! Harry Potter must save him! Terrible things will happen in Hogwarts this year, and Mark Potter must not die. He is too great, too good, to lose."

"Which is why I don't want him out of Hogwarts. I trust Dumbledore no farther than I can throw him, but he won't let Mark die."

Dobby looked around wildly, his eyes finally settling on Remus. "You is a werewolf, yes, sir?" Remus nodded. The house-elf looked miserable. "We house-elves have a saying, that werewolves can scent destiny. Please, Remus Lupin sir, tell Harry Potter that Dobby is not lying." The big eyes were moist again.

Remus blinked. _That _was a new one. Scent destiny? He'd heard scent blood, scent fear, scent weakness, but never destiny. Harry muttered something to himself. It sounded like "protectors," but that was absurd. "I'm afraid that I can't, Dobby," he said gently. If he could 'scent destiny,' he would have known that Sirius was a liar. Instead, he'd been concerned about Peter- poor, brave Peter, who had never heard his apology.

The elf crumpled. "Dobby has failed," he moaned. "Now Dobby will have to iron his ears for nothing."

"_Iron your ears_!" yelled Harry and Remus, jumping off their seats. Dobby looked startled. Harry looked at Remus, his expression pained. Remus knew how he felt. The ironing could be because Dobby had failed to convince Harry, or because he really was telling the truth.

Remus had an idea. "Dobby, if you want us to believe you, you have to tell us another way to stop this plot from being carried out."

Dobby looked sick. He glanced wildly at Remus, then at Harry, and finally at the walls. Then, with a wild shriek of "_Bad Dobby!" _he charged over and began banging his head against it.

Both wizards leapt on the elf, who was still screaming his mantra. "I believe you, all right Dobby!" Harry bellowed.

The elf turned his agonized face to Harry. "_August eighth!"_ he screamed, clutching the boy's shirt. _"Diagon Alley!" _

Then he vanished without a trace.

* * *

Now I feel really bad for Dobby.

_Wow, I feel pretty useless at this point, for any who actually bothered to read up to this point. Give Antares a hand, this chapter was error free as far as I can tell. So give her hand for good self-editing._

_-Tetsurga _

Read and review!

-Antares


	2. On the Hunt

For some reason, this was just a really hard chapter to write. Took me forever. Also, life caught up with me in the form of lengthy English papers and siblings. In summary, I'm really sorry for the lateness and the shortness.

Disclaimer: Can this thing just count for my entire book? Because I don't own HP now, and if JK ever decides to sell, it'll be all over the news and everyone will know about it.

* * *

_The tongue of the wise dispenses knowledge, _

_But the mouths of fools pour out folly. _

Proverbs 15:2

"You're sure you want to do this, Harry?" asked Remus.

The boy nodded. "I have to," he explained. "If I can disrupt whatever this person is planning today, Mark will be safe again."

Remus shook his head sadly. "You're amazingly loyal, Harry," he murmured.

Harry pretended not to hear. "The Aurors are letting me use their Floo system," he mumbled. "I wish you could come."

"You know that I can't."

"Yeah, I know. But I don't have to like it."

"I don't either. Good luck, Harry."

The young Parselmouth walked off calmly. For once, he didn't try to fight Voldemort's memories. The Dark Lord knew Diagon Alley far better than he did. A few other images floated in, thoughts of Knockturn Alley and its less than reputable shops, but Harry ignored them. Dobby had warned him to go to _Diagon _Alley, not its darker counterpart. He found that bizarre, shouldn't some obviously evil plot unfold in the shadows?

"Diagon Alley," he murmured, tossing the Floo Powder into the merrily dancing fireplace. The Auror guards didn't even look at him. Security wasn't very good around here.

The wizarding marketplace was just as Harry remembered it (with his own memories, this time). It was packed to the bursting with elegantly robed witches, bustling wizards, and overexcited children. The stores' windows advertised sales on dragon liver (Harry shuddered at the thought of Norberta's reaction to that), plain black robes, and silver cauldrons. One shop, Flourish and Blotts, was having a huge sale; something to do with one Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry shuddered at the huge crowd of witches all crammed into it. At least the Lockhart books would be easy to find; he had _seven_ of the man's books on his school list.

They had _better _be good.

Harry continued past the overcrowded bookstore towards Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. He knew perfectly well that one boy couldn't monitor the entire alley, so he'd called in reinforcements.

Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom chatted companionably at a large table. Two people dressed in Muggle clothes and a fierce-looking old witch listened to the young ones' conversation, occasionally chuckling at one of Blaise's jokes. Then Hermione looked up. "Harry!" she shrieked, running towards him.

Every set of eyes turned to him. Harry blushed crimson. "Lo Hermione."

She smiled at him. "Hello, Harry. Mum, Dad, this is Harry Potter. Harry, these are my parents, Jean and David Granger."

"Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Harry. Our daughter's told us so much about you."

"Should I be worried?" he quipped, and was pleased to see them laugh. He and the Grangers would get along just fine.

"This is my gran, Harry," Neville mumbled shyly. He didn't like to interrupt. "Augusta Longbottom." Harry took the old woman's hand with a smile.

Blaise shrugged. "My mum's busy with wedding things."

Harry nodded, one less adult to worry about. He felt stupid for not anticipating the presence of the Grangers and Augusta.

"C'mon. I'll get you some ice cream. My treat," he said. Hermione's parents were dentists, and Augusta did not look like an ice cream person. Much to his relief, all three adults declined his offer.

"I need your help," he muttered, slipping into the small line. In quick, quiet sentences, he explained Dobby's warning to the three others.

"Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore," hissed Hermione, her face white. Her expression contrasted sharply with the ice cream cone in her right hand. "I know you don't like him, but-"

"Wouldn't that hurt Dobby?" asked Blaise. His face was angry. "Think about it: If this plot is real and Dumbledore runs around trying to stop it, Dobby's masters will know he snitched. What d'you think the beasts would do to him then?"

Hermione blanched. Blaise had raised a good point.

"So it's up to us?" asked Neville. He nodded slightly, ignoring the dripping of his ice cream. "I'll keep an eye out Harry, but I don't know if I'll be much use." He sighed. "It would be better if we knew who to look for."

Blaise sighed. "It's probably a Slytherin family," he admitted grudgingly. "Ex-Death Eaters, maybe."

"I'll cover the bookstore," Hermione murmured. "Mum and Dad won't think that strange at all. I'll stay there as long as I can, Harry."

Blaise shrugged. "I've got free reign of the Alley, but I can't stay until past three. Mum and I have a tea date with her fiancé."

"Gran wanted some new robes," Neville muttered. "I can look at Madam Malkin's and the stores where we get our school supplies."

Harry nodded. He had to get dress robes for Blaise's mother's wedding; if Neville covered Madam Malkin's, he could visit the other robe shop. "Thanks, guys."

* * *

Three hours and five stores later, Harry was ready to scream. He hadn't seen anything suspicious, anything unusual, any clue to the plot.

He had decided to do his school shopping later, after the others had left. Blaise could leave the longest, but even he would have to leave at half-past two. That was in just two hours.

Harry had ranged all through the alley. He'd entered a secondhand robe store, the Apothecary, both pet shops, and Gringotts. Unfortunately, he couldn't linger very long in any of those places, especially not the bank. Harry did not want to be interrogated by a group of goblin guards. After a quick lunch in one of the cafes- nothing suspicious there, either- Harry wandered over to Twilfit and Tattings.

The sales-witch was very efficient and attentive, possibly because Harry was her only customer. He paid only half a mind to her, focusing mainly on his plans. He definitely should have come at another time, when there were more people. Anyone who entered now wouldn't be able to do anything suspicious; he'd be snatched up by the assistant sales-witch in a heartbeat. He left half an hour later with a set of deep green dress robes, annoyed. That had taken way too much time.

Flourish and Blotts ("No, I don't want Gilderoy Lockhart to sign these! I don't even want to buy them!"), Madam Malkin's ("Just looking, ma'am, I haven't grown that much."), Gringotts again ("No loitering, kid!"), Magical Menagerie ("Three bags of Owl Treats, please."). Nothing happened. Nothing. It was enough to drive him mad!

The hours dragged on as Harry wandered uselessly through the Alley. He knew that he was probably too late, but the young Parselmouth couldn't bring himself to leave. There was a tiny possibility that he still had time.

The shadows lengthened. Shops began to close; the cafes filled with bustling life. Harry bought himself a pair of sausage rolls and continued walking. His feet ached in pain and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his school supplies.

Nothing. Nothing at all!

* * *

Mark Potter treasured this time of day.

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily at him from over the table. "How was your day, Mark?" he asked curiously.

"Great!" the Boy-Who-Lived gushed. "Ron and I hung out at Quality Quidditch Supplies for over an hour, and we would've spent more time there if his brother Percy hadn't dragged us away to some boring bookstore."

Dumbledore smiled. "Which one? Flourish and Blotts?"

"No, we went there later." Mark glared accusingly. "Why didn't you _tell _me that Gilderoy Lockhart was gonna be our new DADA teacher?"

Those eyes just kept twinkling. "Did you not like the surprise?"

"Well, yeah," Mark mumbled, "the surprise was great, but you still could've told me."

The headmaster chuckled. "I take it that you and Professor Lockhart got along well?"

Mark smiled, happy once again. "Yeah. He's done all sorts of cool thing- not as cool as offing a Dark Lord, of course, but still neat. There's all kinds of stuff he can teach me. He says that once you've done something to get attention, people just want more and more. If you don't give them what they want, they'll abandon you in a heartbeat."

"Sad but true," Dumbledore agreed gravely. "The public is a fickle thing. You should only trust those you know personally."

Mark nodded, soaking it up like a sponge. "But I really like Lockhart. I think I can trust him."

Dumbledore decided to change the subject. "Did anything else happen?" He knew the answer already, of course. He'd seen it in Mark's mind.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Ron's dad and Malfoy's dad almost got into a fight, but then Lockhart's cameraman broke it up. Then Lockhart distracted everybody so Mr. Weasley didn't get in trouble. I helped." He prattled on about how he'd spent almost an hour signing autographs with Lockhart until his hand began to cramp, what brooms were on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and other inanities.

Dumbledore, who had long ago mastered the art of only half-listening, almost ignored the boy, paid just enough attention to know when to smile, nod, and make some insignificant comment. He had no doubt that Lucius had slipped one of the Weasleys- probably young Ginevra; only she had had contact with him- Tom Riddle's diary.

He'd known over ten years that Lucius possessed the first Horcrux. The headmaster had considered destroying it, but he knew from long experience that what existed could be used. It was rather more difficult to manipulate something that wasn't real- not impossible, but much more difficult.

Once Mark Potter had overthrown the so-called Dark Lord, a plan had shaped in Dumbledore's agile mind. The boy was perhaps the most valuable tool he'd ever seen, and he had lived for many years. It was essential for Dumbledore to control him; therefore, the boy had to be as anti-Slytherin as possible. What better way than to expose him to Slytherin's Heir?

* * *

Remus stared uneasily back towards his house, wondering if Harry were back yet. Naturally, staring told him nothing except that Harry had forgotten to shut his window again- probably for Hedwig. He doted on that owl.

"Remus, get back to work," ordered another werewolf, a middle-aged Muggle named Cynthia. The Aurors weren't looking at them, but they could change that at any minute.

He sighed, monotonously hefting huge crates of potion ingredients onto a cart. His muscles already ached, and the day was long yet. Trying to take his mind off the weariness and worry, he turned to the werewolf on his other side.

Tyr Ulfhednar was tough, grizzled, and hairy- every inch the Hollywood werewolf. He was also Remus' closest friend, and had been since James' and Lily's deaths. "Something wrong, Remus?"

"Just Harry. He's visiting Diagon Alley today."

Cynthia, overhearing, groaned softly. "Just when I'd gotten used to the kid," she muttered.

Remus frowned at her. "It's not Harry's fault that he has an… effect… on us," he pointed out, keeping his voice low. The Aurors were still far away, but there were spells for eavesdropping… Now he was just being paranoid.

Cynthia appeared startled. "How'd you hear that?" she asked. "I could barely hear myself."

Remus blinked at her, almost dropped his load. "What do you mean? You were talking in a stage whisper."

Tyr and Cynthia continued to stare at him. Remus colored. "She was."

"Get back to work, dogs!" barked an Auror. Apparently their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed after all.

The three werewolves remained silent for a few minutes, dutifully stacking crates and sacks onto carts. Every once in a while a fourth worker would take the filled cart over to a train. The Concentration Camp (as residents had angrily dubbed it) served not just as a place to keep werewolves, but also as a major port for Wizarding Britain.

That it was powered by slave labor made no difference in the mind of the British public.

"She has a point, you know," Tyr commented softly. Apparently the Aurors were far enough away. "Many of us are still in danger of losing control around him. If he's near us for a long time, it's easier to stay… normal."

"It's one day," Remus pointed out. "And don't you think that Harry's effect on us is a good thing?" Cynthia looked at them both as though they were lunatics. Most werewolves did not think that Harry's bizarre ability to awaken the wolf was "good."

Tyr, though, did. He claimed that the wolf Harry brought out was different than the wolf he became every full moon. He even believed that a prolonged exposure to Harry was "as good as a dose of Wolfsbane." Perhaps a very long exposure could help them control the wolf altogether!

He was the only one who believed that. Everyone else thought he'd gone mad.

"I _know _it's good," Tyr reasserted. "The wolf he brings out is benign. I think… I think that that's the real wolf. Something went wrong, though, and the real wolf was suppressed. But now, somehow, Harry is bringing it back."

"Yeah," sneered Cynthia. "That's _very _likely, Tyr. Next you'll tell me that Harry's the real Boy-Who-Lived."

Remus rolled his eyes. Everyone knew that Mark had defeated Voldemort. Tyr, though, looked thoughtful.

"Break it up, doggies," growled an Auror, stalking up behind them. "You-" he pointed to Tyr "go over there. You-" a perfunctory nod towards Cynthia- "go help that group."

Without conversation, the rest of the afternoon passed in slow, painful increments. Remus kept glancing at his home's dilapidated walls, wondering if Harry was home yet.

Finally, the stubborn sun kissed the western horizon. Remus could have wept with relief. The instant his shift was done, he ran home.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, blankly watching something boil on the stove. The boy didn't even look up.

"I failed. Whatever Dobby warned us about… it's going to happen."


	3. Beauty

I don't really want to write this chapter, but I kind of have to. I mean, I have been talking about Blaise's mother's wedding for… um… a while.

_Sorry this took a while, it's my fault as I've been disconnected from the Internet for a little while and have made all of you a little uncomfortable I'm sure, I do apologize for the inconvenience. –Tetsurga_

Tetsurga lied. It took me forever to write this chapter.

* * *

_A capable wife who can find? _

_She is far more precious than jewels. _–Proverbs 31:1

Harry fidgeted uneasily in his emerald green dress robes, tugging slightly at the collar. Remus hid a laugh at his godson's expression. "You picked it out, you know."

"I know," the boy grumbled. He stopped rearranging his collar; it didn't itch any more.

It was the day of Mrs. Zabini's wedding. Blaise had made sure to invite all his friends ("I need something to do," he complained, as though someone else's mother were the one getting married). Neville and Daphne- who was actually more of an ally than a friend, truth be told- would probably have gotten invitations anyways, but Blaise wanted to make sure that they came.

"Where did you get that ring?"

Harry jerked up, startled. Remus was looking at the Portkey to the Chamber of Secrets. Not wanting to leave it behind, Harry had jammed it onto his middle finger. Now he wished he'd found a chain and fastened it around his neck.

The ring, crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself, was cast as a serpent devouring its own tail. Saysa called it an ouroboros. There had been a catch to her voice then; Harry supposed she didn't like the thought of eating _her _own tail. The snake was intricately detailed, each green scale visible above the others. Its eyes were dark circles of gold, slitted in the middle with black pupils.

Harry shrugged, trying to remain casual. "Just something I got from a friend, once," he said blandly. "I thought that since it matches, I'd wear it." Which was the truth, just not all of it. Harry tried not to feel guilty.

"It fits you," Remus replied. His tone said that he knew Harry was keeping something back. "You'd better get going. It's always best to arrive early."

His godson nodded, grateful to escape an interrogation. Remus, he had discovered, was quite lenient when he thought that Harry was safe. A whiff of danger, though, and the werewolf would lock his godson in a cage. It had taken hours of arguing before Remus let Harry go to Diagon Alley on his own, even though there was no other choice.

When he lived at the Dursleys, Harry had always been the protector, not the one protected. Living with Remus was… a nice change.

He walked purposefully down the streets of the CC, clutching awkwardly at his dress robes. It had rained recently, and he didn't think Mrs. Zabini (soon to be Mrs. Rochaid) would appreciate a muddy schoolboy at her wedding, even if it were her fifth one.

As always, the Aurors' quarters made him bubble in rage. The werewolves' sector was filthy, drab, almost falling apart. The Aurors' barracks were clean and spacious. It was warm and comfortable there, while "cozy" was the only compliment he could apply to Remus' lodgings. It was not right! What had the werewolves done wrong? They were sick, not evil, and if his plan worked, that sickness might soon be cured!

Irritated, the boy pushed down his anger. He needed to focus. Harry had used Floo only once before, and Voldemort had avoided it whenever possible.

Harry stared distrustfully at the merrily burning fire. He thought back to the end of the semester, to the flames before the Mirror of Erised. Those had been fake, but they led into horrible danger. These were real, but absolutely harmless.

Harry grimaced. Best do it as quickly as possible. In one fluid motion, he tossed a heaping handful of Floo Power into the fireplace and charged. "Zabini Manor!"

_Thud. _Harry bounced back from the mass in front of him, nearly falling. Whoever he'd hit yelped. She- it was a woman's voice- actually did fall. "Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry," Harry gasped, leaning over to help her up.

The girl's eyes widened. "Harry?"

"Do you know this boy, Nymphadora?" asked another woman's voice. Harry looked over and nearly had heart failure. What was _Bellatrix Lestrange_ doing at Mrs. Zabini's wedding?

"This is Harry Potter, Mum," the girl explained, apparently quite unconcerned about the _Death Eater _three feet away. "The one from Halloween."

Bellatrix smiled, and Harry realized that she wasn't Bellatrix at all. Her face lacked the other's malicious cast. "Good to meet you, Harry," she said warmly, extending her hand. "Andromeda Tonks."

_Tonks? _Harry looked at Nymphadora. Now that he knew who she was, he could see the resemblance. Her hair had been pink at Halloween, but the face was the same. "I thought you'd be here," she told him happily. "I mean, Blaise Zabini was with you at Halloween." She smiled at him, and he wondered how he had failed to recognize her.

Harry, Tonks (only her mother could get away with calling her "Nymphadora") and Andromeda walked down the hall, chatting amiably. Andromeda, it turned out, worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which made Harry's hackles rise- he knew exactly what that department had done to Remus. Andromeda, though, was firmly opposed to the mistreatment of werewolves. In her opinion, the CC should only be used at the full moon. At other times of the month, werewolves should be allowed to go about their own business.

"Mum's right," Tonks commented. "When I heard that some Aurors spent their entire lives 'guarding' werewolves, I almost went into the Department of Mysteries."

Tonks was going to be an _Auror? _Harry very nearly hissed.

Fortunately for him, Blaise appeared. "Hey there, Harry," he said. Though only twelve, he was stunning in his silver-gray dress robes. His mother was a famous beauty, and Blaise had clearly inherited her looks.

"Hey, Blaise," Harry replied. Andromeda said something polite about finding her seat. Tonks waved and trotted after her mother.

Blaise's dark eyes searched the room. Apparently deciding that no one was close enough to overhear, he mumbled, "What happened at Diagon?"

Harry flinched. It was enough. Blaise went pale beneath his dark skin. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"What're we going to do about it?" the Slytherin wondered miserably. "We can't tell Dumbledore- Malfoy is easy to manipulate, and-"

"Malfoy?" Harry queried. "What's Malfoy got to do with this?"

Blaise opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a blast of golden trumpet sound. Several guests jumped. Blaise muttered a curse. "Tell you later," he promised, and darted off.

The trumpets faded into a soft, yearning countermelody. Some kind of high-pitched instrument- flutes, maybe, took up the tune. The entire ensemble continued for another minute, then faded into pianissimo.

"We come here today," boomed a man's chocolaty voice, "to stand witness to the merging of two souls." Someone gasped, pointed. Harry turned and gasped himself. An immense silvery jaguar and an equally bright hyena were waiting near the end of the room. They turned and slowly made their way outside. Patroni.

"She's evil," someone murmured appreciatively, "but she sure knows how to throw a party!"

Harry frowned, turned to rebuke whoever had called Blaise's mother evil, but the crowd was moving after the Patroni. Whoever had spoken was already gone. Sighing, Harry turned around. The Patroni were stately silvery shapes in the distance. Harry began walking.

The animals led the guests outside of the manor and along garden paths. Foxgloves and lupines climbed along the paths' sides, fringed by smaller zinnias and morning glories. Further away, immense rosebushes and hedges towered over the rest of the garden. Harry sniffed, smiling at the sweet floral scents. Neville, he decided, would love it here.

The Patroni walked serenely towards the bushes. By now, a few of the less fit guests had begun to fall behind. Harry and the other guests turned a corner. The witch to his left gasped.

Rosebushes climbed all around him. Their flowers were every color imaginable, and even a few that were not: classic reds and sapphire blues and deep twilight purples. Some were frilled, some multicolored, some big and some delicate and small, but the branches were so closely intertwined they all seemed to grow on the same immense bush, reaching for the sky, arching over the wedding guests, exhuming their intoxicating scent. Harry breathed deeply, then smiled, content.

The flowers surrounded a gigantic stone square- no, not a square, more like a gently rounded oval. Moss and tiny, tiny flowers peeked up from between the stones. Stately benches, apparently pure marble (though in reality they were probably transfigured wood) were arranged in a semicircle around a lacy portico. A single figure in dark dress robes stood there: the groom, one Endymion Rochaid.

Suddenly a flock of doves burst out from behind the groom. When they vanished, a black-robed magistrate had appeared in their place. "We come here today," he said in that same chocolaty voice, "to stand witness to the merging of two souls."

The trumpets were back too, and the flute-like instruments. They repeated their melody, swelling into grandiose heights and finally settling into a wistful, yearning piano. All heads turned.

Anath Zabini stood silhouetted against the rosebushes, her son on her arm. Harry's breath caught. Even a twelve-year-old could see how she had gained her reputation for beauty. Her height was the only average thing about her. The rest was a perfect obsidian sculpture: high cheekbones, curly black ringlets that fell just past her shoulders, large dark eyes. Her dress shimmered in the morning light with a thousand thousand pearls. Slowly, with great dignity, she walked down the aisle. About halfway through Blaise let go of her arm and stood silently, watching. Harry thought he looked sad, but that was impossible. Who could be sad at his own mother's wedding?

"Do you, Endymion Ambrosius…."

"Do you, Anath Erin…."

"I do."

"I do."

The guests erupted into cheers.

* * *

Blaise stood at the edge of the garden, moodily staring at his glass of punch. He hated it when Anath married. He just hated it. The stepfathers were always happy for a time, then they'd fall victim to a mysterious "accident." Anath would grieve for a few months, then, jump back into the dating pool to "help her get over the tragedy of number five's death."

Yeah, right.

"Blaise, your mum throws amazing parties," said a cheerful, familiar voice. Harry Potter's smiling face beamed up at him. "Course, I've never been to a Wizarding wedding before, but this is still pretty cool!"

"Mum has a lot of practice," Blaise grumbled.

Harry blinked. Slytherin or no, he was still very innocent, at least in some areas. "What do you mean? Is she a wedding consultant or something?"

Blaise sighed. "Harry, Endymion is my _fourth _stepfather."

The younger boy's jaw dropped. "Fourth? How?"

His friend flinched. "Numbers one through three had… accidents. Supposedly."

Harry's eyes were wide as saucers. "Oh," he said meekly.

Blaise hesitated. He'd never told anyone the details before, but Harry was his friend. His best friend, "I think she got the idea when my dad died." Maybe even before then, but Harry didn't need to know that. "I was two; I don't remember much of it, but Dad owned a diamond-mining business in South Africa. When he died, Mum suddenly became rich. All my stepfathers have been rich, too. Mum likes rich men."

Harry's eyes were soft with sympathy. "Ouch. I know it doesn't do anything, but… I'm sorry, Blaise."

The other boy grimaced. Time to change the topic. "Dobby is the Malfoys' house-elf," he said bluntly.

Harry looked furious. "Figures," he growled. "Lucius was always foul."

His friend wanted to ask when Harry had met Lucius Malfoy but was interrupted by his mother. "Blaise! There you are! It's your turn to serve the punch."

He glared at her helplessly. He hated serving punch and had been trying to avoid notice.

Harry was sympathetic. "How long are you gonna be at the punch bowl?"

"Hours. At least."

"Ouch. Will you get out before eight? That's when I have to be home."

"Definitely not. Mum will probably send me up to bed at ten. I know how these things work."

Harry frowned. "Oh. Were you planning to finish your letter to Norberta and her mum then? I was."

Blaise blinked, momentarily wondering why he would send an owl to a psychotic dragon (who couldn't read!) and a thousand-year-old basilisk. Then he grinned. "I wasn't, but I probably should, shouldn't I?"

His friend nodded, raising a hand in a wave. For the first time, Blaise noticed that he was wearing the ouroboros Portkey. Harry smiled. "Well then, Blaise, I'll see you at school."

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets was an immense stone cavern beneath the lake by Hogwarts. It was decorated all over with carved serpents: on the columns, on the walls, even a few streaking across the ceiling. Seeing the Chamber always made Blaise wonder just how Salazar Slytherin had managed to construct it all.

At the end of the cavernous space was a stone statue of Slytherin himself. Ancient and monkeyish, Slytherin gazed down on his legacy with cold granite eyes.

At least, they used to be granite.

Not much startled Blaise, but the Chamber of Secrets had a habit of surprising him. First he'd been stunned by its actual existence; after that, by the _s__ixty-foot-long _snake (who could apparently become _human!_) that lived in it;then by the dragoness their insane groundskeeper had somehow acquired. Given those occurrences, he probably shouldn't have been surprised that Salazar's enormous statue had somehow turned to gold, but he was.

A hissing noise interrupted his gawking, and Blaise looked down. Sisith was almost invisible against the dark floor, but once Blaise started looking, the black serpent seemed to shine. "'Lo, Sisith," he said amiably. "Harry's coming soon." The Parselmouth had tried to teach his friends some Parseltongue, but Blaise's skills had grown rusty over the summer- not that they'd been good in the first place.

Sisith hissed something; Blaise recognized the sounds for Harry's name, and his own.

As if on cue, the younger wizard materialized. He had changed out of his dress robes into a faded Muggle t-shirt and denim pants. Smiling, Harry hissed something at Sisith, then looked up and added, "Hi, Blaise."

The black serpent slithered over to Harry, hissing something rapidly. Harry's eyes widened. He spun around, jaw dropping at the statue. "What in the- _Norberta_!"

A shape appeared in the shadows, steadily resolving itself into a black dragon. Twenty feet long from head to hind, with an extra ten feet of tail, Norberta was the newest addition to the Chamber's permanent inhabitants.

"Norberta," Harry said with exaggerated patience, "why did you turn Salazar into gold?"

Hisses and growls. Harry looked exasperated. "_Shiny_? I don't _care_ how shiny it is, it's not supposed to be gold! How long has it been this way?"

"More importantly," Blaise interjected wryly, _"how _did it get that way?"

Harry reddened. "Oh… yeah, Norberta, how did it get that way?" At his feet, Sisith made a sarcastic-sounding comment.

"I was asking you, Harry."

His friend was still blushing. "Actually… I think it's better to show you. Norberta, where is it?"

The dragoness growled something that did not sound complimentary. Blaise wondered what she had said; these conversations would be much more entertaining if he could actually understand them. He really should start working on his Parseltongue.

"Norberta, you just mutated a thousand-year-old piece of art! Did you really think I'd let you keep it? Now hand it over."

If not for a sudden familiar grinding sound, the two might have come to blows. Saysa, eyes closed, slithered out of Salazar's mouth.

Being friends with Harry Potter tended to teach one interesting things. One of those things was how to read a snake's limited facial expressions. Saysa was furious. Norberta wisely scurried off into the shadows to fetch whatever it was Harry wanted.

Harry chuckled slightly. "Saysa says to never trust a dragon with valuables. Dragons like to hoard things, she says, the shinier the better. Oh, and we also shouldn't let them near royalty. They've been known to collect princesses, and that tends to be unhealthy."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "No fresh air and a diet of meat."

"She meant for the dragons. Princesses tend to attract knights with lances, or dragon handlers. Or just angry mobs."

Having no idea how he could reply to that, Blaise changed the subject. "Yeah… I asked my house-elves about Dobby, and they did some asking around. You'd be amazed at what house-elves know about their masters… but that's not the point. Apparently, the Malfoys have been known to kill house-elves who make them too mad. I think that if we got Dumbledore involved (assuming he actually does anything), they would just kill off Dobby."

Harry scowled. "He'll know soon enough. In fact, he'll probably turn it into another test for Mark."

"Actually, Harry," Blaise replied slowly, "I think that he planned it this way."

The other boy just stared. "What?"

"Think about it. Dumbledore knows that Malfoy hates Muggleborns and that Muggleborns are outdoing him in pretty much everything. It would be easy for him to predict that wee wittle Dwakey would start complaining to daddy as soon as he got home. Daddy Lucy, of course, is mad that his perfect pureblood son is being outdone by smarter people." He met Harry's eyes, brown boring into green. "I don't think it is just Mark who's in trouble. If I'm right, the Lucius is targeting the Muggleborns. Your brother, if he's even being targeted at all, is just icing on the cake."

A funny look crossed Harry's face. It almost looked as though he was trying to remember something. But all he said was, "That makes sense." He was probably trying to figure out why he hadn't thought of it. "Of course, if what you're saying is true, this is probably just a test for Mark."

"You already said that."

"Well, can you think of any other explanation?"

Saysa made a comment. Sisith hissed something, apparently agreement. "Norberta's back," Harry translated.

The black dragoness slunk out of the shadows, her amber eyes darting nervously towards Saysa. With an air of great reluctance, she dropped something from between her claws into Harry's waiting hands. The object flashed with red light.

Blaise blinked curiously, peered closer at it. Norberta's possession was a small, irregular stone. Even in the dim light of the Chamber, it seemed to glow with its own inner fire. "A rock? How could a rock-" Then it hit him like lightning.

The last few days of his first year had been chaotic. Reporters had stalked campus, rumors had run rampant, but Blaise knew more than other people. In the bowels of the school, Mark Potter and Quirinius Quirrell- the host of Voldemort- had fought over the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Okay, how the heck did you get hold of the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Er… I think I'll just give you the abbreviated version. Neville signaled me when Mark didn't go to bed at ten, so I followed him but I couldn't catch up to him until he'd already faced Voldemort. He was out cold by then. I pretended to join him- Voldemort, not Mark- got my hands on the Stone, and had Sisith bite him. Then I set him on fire. Then Dumbledore showed up, so I grabbed the Stone and my Portkey and high-tailed it. Yeah. I think that's it."

Blaise just gawked. One thing was for sure: Harry Potter held even more surprises than the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

Poor Blaise. I really can't help but feel sorry for him.

"Anath" was the name of an ancient Middle Eastern war goddess famous for her excesses. It's also an alibi taken by Semirhage in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time, which is how I learned about the name. I kind of liked it. "Endymion" is a shepherd who had the misfortune of attracting the moon goddess. She put him into an eternal sleep so she could shower him each night with kisses.

My next few updates are going to be pretty sporadic, so forgive me in advance.

-Antares


	4. New Rebellions

I'm not sure how much I like this chapter. It's mostly just a filler… maybe that's why. It really makes me feel sorry for Ginny, though. I expected to hate her after writing this chapter, but now I mostly just pity her.

* * *

_The words of the wicked are a deadly ambush. _

Proverbs 12:6a

If asked his least favorite thing about Remus, Harry wouldn't hesitate. "It's his trust in Dumbledore," he would reply. "Him and Hermione and Neville- they're all blind to him."

Remus had spent most of his free time on the day following Anath's wedding composing a letter to the old headmaster. He even worked on it at his job, mentally summarizing it and revising it and occasionally quoting it under his breath. Quite a few of the other werewolves were beginning to question his sanity.

For obvious reasons, werewolves were not allowed owls, so Remus had to borrow Harry's. Harry didn't mind, especially not when Hedwig doubled back without delivering the letter. He hid it among his bags. The letter would head to Hogwarts, but not to the Headmaster's office.

Harry saw no reason to tell Remus. Why worry the poor man even more?

Hermione and Neville were another matter. They had both sent owls asking for information, and Harry knew that if they knew he'd failed, they would also send letters to Dumbledore. He also knew that he couldn't intercept those letters.

In the end, his solution was, quite ironically, a letter.

_Dear Hermione/Neville, _

_I know you want to write Dumbledore, but you can't. Dobby is Lucius Malfoy's house-elf (yes, Draco's father). That normally wouldn't be a problem, but Malfoy Sr. is on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. In fact, he controls the entire board. _

_The point is, Malfoy has the power to get Dumbledore sacked, and he'll use that power if he thinks he's been exposed. Unfortunately, Dumbledore can't do much about this without confronting Malfoy. It's a lose-lose situation. _

_Yes, I know that Dumbledore is sneaky, but so is Malfoy. Malfoy can get him sacked, and then what will happen? He'll probably bully the board into making Snape headmaster! _

_That brings me to my second point: Snape. Dumbledore, for reasons unknown, trusts the slimy git. He'd use Snape to foil Malfoy's plans, and those two are famous chums. Snape is even Draco's godfather. Please, please don't tell Dumbledore. It would just put Malfoy on guard, and he'd probably kill Dobby. _

_-Harry _

* * *

She'd done it twice before, but Hermione Granger still didn't like entering Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Even after a year of magic, it seemed impossible that the brick barrier would let her through. She couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut as she ran towards it.

Once through, though, her previous excitement returned. Hogwarts was like a second, more exciting home, and this year Gilderoy Lockhart would be teaching! She'd already read all his books, of course, and done a bit of background research, and he sounded like a superb professor. Anyone with that much experience with Dark Creatures would undoubtedly provide fascinating DADA lessons! He'd certainly be better than Quirrell, who, despite having a Dark Lord in the back of his head, had been horribly inept. Honestly, one would think that the vessel of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be more knowledgeable about the class!

Hermione grinned at the now-familiar hustle and bustle of the station. Owls, sleepy and irate, filled the air with their hooting. Cats hissed at one another, and the occasional toad croaked moodily at them. The humans were even louder, shouting greetings and good-byes.

She had been early, of course, so there was still some time to wait. Unlike many of her classmates, Hermione always made sure to keep her baggage where she could see it, and she had no pet to wander off and cause confusion. The Ravenclaw frowned slightly at her disorganized classmates. They always made departure far more trouble than it needed to be.

And yet… this might be their last time at the station. The hair on Hermione's neck tried to stand up. She understood that they couldn't let Malfoy learn that his plan had been exposed, but these students were so vulnerable.

"Hey, Hermione!" called a voice. She smiled, spun around. Blaise's laughing face beamed down at her. He had grown over the summer, but his eyes were the same: bright, sparkling, full of humor and mischief.

"Hello, Blaise," she replied. "How was your summer? How was the wedding? I really did want to go, but-"

He waved off her protests with practiced ease. "Eh, don't worry about it. You probably wouldn't have liked it anyways." His eyes narrowed. "Did you get Harry's letter?"

Hermione did not need to ask which letter. "Actually, yes." She tried to smile reassuringly. "And I think he makes a very good point."

Harry had many good points, and not all of them had been covered in the letter. He was one of the smartest, wisest people Hermione knew. If he did not trust someone, then (much as it hurt to admit it) he probably had reason.

He must have a reason for not trusting Dumbledore.

Hermione had originally shoved own her suspicions into the far corners of her mind. Wasn't the headmaster a hero, lauded by purebloods and Muggleborns alike? Wasn't he a fiery activist, fighting for the rights of those whose only crime was being _different_? Hadn't he defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, contributing to the end of World War II?

_Yet_, a tiny voice kept whispering, _didn't he also keep Snape- who I _know _regularly uses Legilimency on his students- and Quirrell? Didn't he leave Harry and Mark to those horrible Dursleys for years and years? _

The thoughts made her deeply uneasy. So Hermione did what she did whenever she was uneasy: she turned to books. Specifically, books about the history of law. Books from before and after Albus Dumbledore gained his great influence in the Ministry of Magic.

The results were chilling. Before 1945, when Dumbledore had received his seat on the Wizengamot for defeating Grindelwald, the law had been much more favorable to Muggle-borns, werewolves, vampires, house-elves, and other minorities. The changes had been gradual, innocuous, easy to ignore, but they accumulated. Now minority rights were at their lowest since the 1770s, when American patriots had helped instigate a revolution against the purebloods.

The conclusion was obvious: Albus Dumbledore was a wolf in sheep's clothing (no offense to Mr. Lupin, whom Hermione had met once and found very considerate).

Blaise greeted the elder Grangers and turned back to Hermione. "Need help with your bags?"

"No, thank you."

She hugged her parents one last time, and the two young wizards boarded the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

Neville Longbottom got to King's Cross five minutes before eleven, which was even worse than last year's boarding fiasco. At least he had Trevor this time, he thought unhappily, trying to look on the bright side. And this year I have friends.

That thought always made him smile.

Clutching his toad, Neville dashed onto the impatiently steaming locomotive. "Bye Gran!" he yelled, trying to dodge around a tardy seventh year.

He failed.

Luggage and bodies went flying in all directions. Neville bounced back and landed hard, blinking in confusion. Trevor, taking advantage of the collision, tried to hop out of his master's sweaty hands. Neville, irritated, simply clutched the toad harder. Trevor let out a reproachful _croak. _

The seventh year's baggage had already been loaded onto the train, but he had to bear the full brunt of Neville's luggage. A snarl of fury came over his face. A wand materialized in his hands. Neville flinched, hoped that the hex wouldn't be too bad.

"Hey, Neville. Parkinson, aren't you supposed to be with the prefects?"

Neville couldn't stop a grin.

Harry Potter leaned confidently out of the steam train, an indulgent smile on his face. "Oh, never mind. I'll just tell them you're helping Nev here with his bags. They'll understand."

Parkinson's face darkened. "Listen here, Potter-" he growled.

"Why are you threatening me?" Harry asked innocently. "It's not like I'm going to tell anyone that you dropped Neville's stuff all over the floor. Levitation spells have been known to give out before, but that usually stops around fifth year."

Parkinson frowned and (oddly) glanced at the windows. His expression became furious. "One day, Potter, that smart mouth won't be able to save you."

"Probably. Someone has to be intelligent enough to beat a measly second year."

The older wizard's jaw stiffened. Clearly, he was trying to bite back another comment- one that Harry would, inevitably, turn on its head. He flourished his wand angrily, as though to make a point, and stalked into the train, leaving Neville's bags strewn out behind him.

"Thanks, Harry," mumbled Neville, hefting a heavy suitcase onto his back.

"No problem," Harry answered, easily levitating Neville's carry-on. "C'mon, it's about to leave."

The two boys wandered through the compartments, Neville stumbling a little as the train began moving, chatting inanely. "Why didn't that boy beat me up?"

"People were watching," Harry answered, as though it were obvious. "And I'd just threatened him with a completely plausible story. Slytherins wouldn't believe it, of course, but all the younger students in other Houses would. He'd be a laughingstock."

Neville blinked, not understanding any of it. "Er… what story?"

Harry seemed surprised his friend hadn't understood. "That he'd been helping you with your things, only his Levitation Charm had failed. For a seventh year, that would be completely humiliating."

"Oh." Neville did not think he would like to be in Slytherin. The snakes' constant dance of power and plots, with all its subtle nuances and overtones, was far beyond his understanding. Harry, though, had thrived there. Ah, well. Each to his own.

They found Blaise and Hermione eight carts in. The Ravenclaw and her Slytherin friend were discussing something in low, serious voices. When Harry and Neville came in, the two fell silent. Blaise glanced up warily, then grinned. "Good news, Harry: you've won a convert."

The Parselmouth stared.

Blaise glanced at Hermione, made a silent encouraging gesture. The Muggle-born was blushing. "I did some research this summer," she mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. "On the law. I found- oh, just let me show you." She dug into her carry-on, first removing two heavy books and finally revealing a wire-bound Muggle notebook. Its pages, Neville noted, weren't made with parchment; he thought the unfamiliar material was called payer.

Recorded in the sheets of payer was a long timeline, beginning on the book's third page and ending several pages later. The first date, 1900, was recorded in blue ink. Spreading out from the each date were laws written in blue, green, and red.

"The green shows when politicians are elected to office," Hermione explained. "The blue laws advanced Muggle-born rights and sometimes the rights of magical creatures. The red laws took those rights away."

Comprehension dawned in Harry's eyes. "Ah," he murmured, and flipped quickly through the pages. The Parselmouth stopped at 1945. At the beginning of the page, green ink proudly proclaimed, "July 13: Albus Dumbledore named Chief Mugwump."

"Before nineteen forty-five," Hermione whispered, "I recorded most of the laws in blue. About a quarter of those acts were repealed later, but there was still progress. After, though… red."

Neville's jaw dropped. Last year, Hermione had been Dumbledore's most stalwart defender. Now she was implying…

"Not pretty, huh?" Harry asked gently. The girl shook her head, mute.

Neville hesitated. His gran, his entire family, had trusted Dumbledore for decades. Now, though, a few sheets of paper was sowing doubt, reaping fear. "Could I…?" he began.

Hermione sighed. "Of course. Maybe you can see something I've done wrong." Her tone clearly implied that she would not mind if he did.

Neville shuddered. Hermione Granger _wanting _to be wrong was just as likely as… as Dumbledore really fighting against everything he stood for. It just didn't happen.

But the first one had happened, was happening even then. What did that mean for the second?

* * *

Ever since her brother Bill had first gone off to Hogwarts, Ginny had dreamed of her own time at the enchanted castle. She had it all planned out: she would join Gryffindor like her parents and brothers and play on the Quidditch team (hopefully a Chaser, but she would settle for Seeking) and make all sorts of new friends and maybe even a boyfriend (though Mum claimed she was far too young for that sort of thing).

Now, though, Ginny's plans had changed. _Mark Potter, _the Boy-Who-Lived, a wizard almost as great and powerful as Albus Dumbledore himself, was just a year above her. He was Ron's best friend, for Merlin's sake! Ginny loved him already, and she was determined to make Mark love her back.

That was her newest goal: not homework or the Gobstones Club, but winning Mark Potter's heart. She had been visualizing their encounter for almost a year, when Ron had owled home about befriending the Boy-Who-Lived. Her plan was perfect, foolproof: After being Sorted into Gryffindor House, Ginny would go sit with her brother, who would conveniently be right next to Mark. She and Mark would start talking, and he would start to realize how smart and funny Ginny was and how her hair glowed when the sun hit it just right.

It would be the perfect love story. The other girls would be jealous and try to steal him, but Mark would be so enthralled he wouldn't even notice their wrath. They'd start dating right away, and he'd get her flowers and chocolates and recite love poems, and they'd marry just as soon as she graduated in a huge ceremony with lots of white flowers. Ginny already had a wedding planner picked out: Anath Zabini, who had married five times (or was it six?) and was famous for her lavish parties.

"Ginny… oh _Giiiii-_ny."

The girl blinked, rudely awakened from her romantic fairytale. "Yeah?"

The girl in front of her- Chelsea something- looked concerned. "Maryanne asked what House you want to be in."

Maryanne, a freckle-faced Muggle-born, nodded. "I don't know much about the Houses," she admitted shyly. "I think I'll just let the Sorters decide."

"I'll be in Gryffindor," Ginny guaranteed.

"How do you know?" asked Maryanne, wishing she could be as certain as the redhead.

Ginny shrugged. "Oh, all my family's been in Gryffindor."

Maryanne frowned. "But… you're the one being Sorted, not your family."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, "and I'll be Sorted into Gryffindor."

"I'm going to be in Ravenclaw," interrupted Chelsea. "It's the House for smart people," she explained to Maryanne.

"Oh," replied the Muggle-born.

The conversation turned to how, exactly, they were to be Sorted. Ginny leaned back, listened with only one ear. Her thoughts drifted back to Mark, then to her other secret.

When Ginny had first received her school books, she'd thought that there was a mistake. She hadn't thought that Daddy could afford a diary, especially not with all the Gilderoy Lockhart books she and her brothers needed. But Ginny never looked a gift horse in the mouth. She'd immediately begun to write in the diary.

Then the book had written back.

After her initial heart attack, Ginny had been consumed with curiosity. She heard of books that wrote back, but they were question-and-answer schoolbooks, not diaries. Tom, though, had a distinct personality. He was funny and charming, and Ginny had known right away that he (books didn't have genders, but Tom was a boy's name and Ginny thought of him as a boy) was more than an amusing enchantment. Tom had a soul.

The disparate pair- bodiless book and prepubescent girl- had quickly bonded. Tom was lonely, he told her; not many people talked to him. Most wizards, when they found out he was sapient, did their best to get rid of him. He was lucky to find a friend like Ginny, who was smart enough to realize that he was harmless. After all, Tom laughed, what were those other wizards afraid of? It wasn't like a book could do any harm.

Ginny understood. Though she had six elder brothers, she was lonely too.

Now, sitting in a compartment full of chattering girls, Ginny wished she were alone with Tom. Tom understood her; he laughed when she laughed and comforted her when she was sad.

The hours passed. Soon it was time for the girls to change into their uniforms. Ginny tried not to flinch as she drew out her tattered secondhand robes, but the girls noticed anyways. They didn't say anything, but Ginny could see contempt in their faces. Her own cheeks reddened, but she tried not to show just how deeply those smirks hurt her. Tom never laughed at her.

The train halted, and Ginny swallowed hard. Now that her Sorting was close, she couldn't help but worry. What if she didn't end up in Gryffindor? Ravenclaw would be okay, but what if she ended up in Hufflepuff? Or worse: _Slytherin._ She'd be disowned!

Maryanne placed a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "It'll be okay," she promised.

Ginny nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" bellowed a deep voice. Ginny turned around and gawked at the hugest man she'd seen in her life.

Rubeus Hagrid was as tall as two normal men and as wide as three- no, four- no, _five_. Eyes like black beetles glittered above his hedge-like black beard. An immense, beefy hand held up a brightly glowing lantern. "Firs' years over here!"

The first years, nervous and shy, scurried over to the groundkeeper's side. Was this the Sorter?

He wasn't. Hagrid's only job was to lead the first years down to the lake and arrange them in boats. Ginny boarded hers with Maryanne, Chelsea, and a blonde girl whose name she couldn't remember.

Just as the last first years and Hagrid boarded, the ominously cloudy skies finally unleashed their watery burdens. The children groaned, tried to shield themselves with middling success. "Wish I had an umbrella," muttered Chelsea. Ginny nodded in complete agreement. Only the blond girl seemed content.

The trip across the lake was rather boring, with the exception of a boy falling in and being thrown out by a giant tentacle. Several girls shrieked at that. The blond girl laughed with delight and shouted something in a chirping language. "What are you doing?" Ginny demanded.

The girl fixed her bulbous eyes on the youngest Weasley. "I'm thanking him for saving that boy. Place guardians always need gratitude, or else they'll go over to your enemies and betray all your secrets."

Ginny and Maryanne stared. Beside them, Chelsea snorted. "You're loony," she declared.

The girl shook her head. "No, I'm Lun-_a_."

"Loony Luna," sang Chelsea. "Loony Luna."

Ginny hid a grin. The girl _was _loony. How in the world could a squid betray Hogwarts' secrets?

When they finally reached the castle, few could stifle a sigh of relief. They were still wet, but at least they were out of the rain.

After a short lecture by the stern-looking Deputy Headmistress, the first years walked obediently trotted into the Great Hall. Ginny's jaw dropped. It was beautiful! The ceiling was dark purple, occasionally lighting up with flashes of brilliant lightning. Percy said that it was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and it seemed he'd been telling the truth.

Then her nervous queasiness returned. They were finally in the Great Hall, and now was the moment of truth: the Sorting.

McGonagall walked slowly up to a stool bearing… a raggedy hat that probably wouldn't even be sold at secondhand stores. More than one young wizard blinked in confusion.

Then the hat began to sing:

"_For a thousand years and more _

_I've Sorted every student _

_Putting them into the House _

_I thought for them most prudent. _

_I've seen their thoughts, dreams, and fears, _

_And every child's spirit. _

_There's not to fear from Sorting, _

_I tell you, do not fear it! _

_Now Gryffindors have courage, _

_They have a lion's heart and soul. _

_Gryffindors are chivalrous; _

_They are brave, and fierce, and bold. _

_The Hufflepuffs are loyal_

_And their kindness is renowned_

_Hufflepuffs stick by their friends; _

_Their feet are always on the ground. _

_In Ravenclaw, students find _

_A place to learn, read, and think_

_They love their knowledge very much _

_It is their food and drink. _

_The Slytherins are cunning_

_And they sometimes can seem cold_

_They live for their ambitions_

_One wants to cast away the old. _

_Oh Houses four, what tragedy_

_That you are so divided! _

_Those who wish to make you one_

_Are oftentimes derided! _

_Gryffindors can be loyal, _

_And Slytherins have boldness; _

_All Hufflepuffs need cunning, _

_Ravenclaws must melt their coldness. _

_The Houses need each other_

_For alone each House is weak_

_You must all join together_

_The Houses four must speak _

_About division and about _

_New unity within_

_I have spoken, I have warned: _

_Let the Sorting now begin." _

For a few seconds, silence filled the Hall. Then McGonagall snapped open a scroll and barked, "Avins, Frederick!"

For Ginny, the Sorting seemed to last forever. Why, oh why did her surname have to be Weasley? Why couldn't it be something like Baggins or Avers? Why did it have to start with a W?

Soon there were only three students left, then two, then only Ginny. The girl was conscious of every eye in the Hall on her. When McGonagall finally called out, "Weasley, Ginny!" she almost ran to the Sorting Hat.

A hiss erupted in her mind. Ginny nearly leapt out of her skin. The hat seemed angry. _"Get rid of the diary!" _its voice ordered. _"Destroy it- it is an abomination!" _

"_You can't talk like that about Tom!" _

"_Dumbledore will know of this," _the hat vowed. _"_GRYFFINDOR!"

Ginny beamed. Grinning, she tossed the raggedy old headpiece onto the bench and trotted over to Gryffindor table- _her _table. The twins were there, and Ron, and next to him….

Was the love of her life.

Mark Potter had unruly chestnut locks and hazel eyes. He laughed at something Ron had said, and Ginny reflected that she had never heard such a beautiful sound in her entire life.

"'Lo, Ginny," Ron said. The twins slapped her on the back, grinning. And Mark Potter _looked at her! _

Suddenly all Ginny's carefully rehearsed conversations flew out of her head. She had had a witty greeting, a dozen witty greetings; why couldn't she remember them? But he was looking at her, and she was standing there like a stupid goldfish with her mouth open but no sounds coming out-

"H-hi, Ron." Nervous, her movements jerky, she forced herself into a chair. It screeched as it moved across the floor. Ginny flinched.

"Glad to see you're in Gryffindor," Ron said cheerfully.

"Uh- me too," she mumbled. Mark was still looking at her; and was he grinning?

Dinner was a disaster. Ginny knocked over more things that night than she had in the rest of her life. She couldn't talk- the words just wouldn't come- so she tried to make up for it by eating. Mark grinned at her. "Hungry?"

Ginny could have wept. Now he thought she was a clumsy, stupid pig! "Yeah," she muttered- and knocked a pitcher of pumpkin juice onto his lap.

Mark's face became furious. "These were my best robes!" he exclaimed, glaring at her. "Now you've gone and ruined them!"

Ginny felt tears come to her face. She mumbled an apology, turned back to her food. The young Gryffindor had never been so miserable in her life.

_The second I get into my dorm,_ the girl decided, _I'm talking to Tom. He'll understand. _

_Tom always knows what to do. _


	5. The Right to Know

_One who gives an honest answer gives a kiss on the lips.-_ Proverbs 24:26

Mark Potter was a complete and utter idiot.

"It can't have been that bad," Neville protested.

Harry fixed him with a flat stare. "Whenever the little prat sees me, he makes some comment about 'snake scent' and walks away. How am I supposed to _warn_ the dolt if he won't let me?"

"**What about snake scent?" **Sisith demanded, offended.

"It's nothing, Sisith," Harry sighed. "Just some stupid Gryffindor joke- no offense, Nev."

"None taken."

"**If your nest-mate is stupid enough to ignore warnings," **grumbled Norberta, **"he deserves whatever happens to him." **

Harry's jaw dropped. Glaring, he spun around, furious word on his mouth, but another beat him to it.

"**Enough, Norberta!" **barked Saysa's angry voice. **"Wait until you have your own nest-mates before criticizing Harry." **

"What are they saying?" Neville whispered. "I caught 'you' and 'if' and 'he deserves' from Norberta, and 'you' and 'Harry' from Saysa."

"Norberta mentioned 'ignore' in the infinitive case," Hermione mumbled, apparently trying to translate, "and the male third person pronoun in the dative…"

Blaise stared at them both with a slightly open mouth. "How do you two understand all that? I still can't tell one hiss from another."

"**Ironic, isn't it?" **Sisith chuckled. **"The Slytherin can't speak Parseltongue half as well as a Gryffindor." **

"**Not to mention the Ravenclaw," **Harry agreed.

"What about the Houses?" Hermione inquired.

Harry translated Sisith's comment, deliberately forgetting what Norberta had said. Her words were too much like his darkest thoughts.

"Didn't you have something to tell them, Harry?" Blaise asked sweetly. Hermione and Neville blanched. Last time Harry had had "something to tell them," he had revealed the existence of a hidden chamber beneath the lake. The time before that, he'd introduced them to Sisith and revealed himself as a Parselmouth.

For Harry, having "something to tell them" was roughly equivalent to, "I am going to drop a huge bombshell into your lives and destroy all your precious preconceptions."

Harry, too, grimaced. He had _liked_ revealing Parseltongue and the Chamber of Secrets. This time, though, it was time to come clean. Completely. "You haven't heard all of it either, Blaise," he announced solemnly.

Blaise's eyes widened. He seemed to be wondering what other secrets Harry had.

"**You don't have to do this, you know," **Sisith told him, uncharacteristically serious.

Harry shook his head, wondered where to start. To fill the silence, he began to ramble. "I really wish I had some Veritaserum here. Or Pensieve. Or even a lesser truth potion. And proof of sanity, because this is pretty crazy."

By now, all three of his friends were silent, watching him with big eyes. They were beginning to understand just how big Harry's secret was.

"It started at my Sorting," Harry murmured, remembering. "You might have noticed that it took an unusually long time- almost two minutes. Most of that time was… not spent on anything even remotely related to the Sorting.

"The hat wanted to 'take a deeper look' to find out where to put me. I didn't know what it meant, so I let it. Yes, Hermione, I do know how stupid that was- now. The hat took its deeper look, and it- found- something, something I didn't know was there. I didn't even know it was possible.

"The hat asked me if I wanted something- an ability, as much a curse as it was a gift."

"Harry, don't tell me you accepted!"

The boy smiled ruefully. "I did. It was really stupid, and trust me Hermione, I've come to regret it many times since."

Blaise cocked his head, considering. "And later that night, you took on Malfoy and his goons with fifth year spells."

Hermione was frowning. "But knowledge isn't a curse," she said. The Ravenclaw frowned. "I'm guessing you got all your prior knowledge from the Sorting Hat?"

"It wasn't exactly from the hat," Harry explained. "And it wasn't just spells I remembered- can remember." He took a deep breath. "I can remember a _life." _

Dead silence rang throughout the chamber. Finally, Neville squeaked, "Whose?"

Harry averted his gaze. "His birth name was Tom Marvolo Riddle," the boy said quietly, drawing the name with his wand. The letters hung poison-green, Avada Kadavra-green, in the dark air of the Chamber of Secrets. "History knows him…" He made a gesture with his wand; the letters rearranged themselves.

"…as Lord Voldemort."

He could not look up, could not bear to see the horrified revulsion in his friends' eyes. What must they think of him, a boy-child with the knowledge of a monster?

Then, amazingly, warm arms wrapped around him. "Oh, Harry," breathed Hermione. "No wonder you've had such horrible nightmares."

Stunned, he looked up, first into her sympathetic face, then over her shoulders at Blaise and Neville. The former was staring at him wide-eyed, but then he smiled. It was a weak smile, but it spoke of support and friendship. Neville seemed more surprised than Blaise, but then he nodded forcefully. For an instant, Harry could see the man his friend would become.

"Thanks," he whispered softly, hugging Hermione back. "You guys are the best."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Professor Lockhart?" Mark asked curiously.

Lockhart beamed at him. His photos, littering the desk and walls of his office, beamed too. Every photograph, Mark noticed, was a perfect replica of Gilderoy Lockhart: Lockhart in sky blue, in brilliant red, in sunny yellow, in an entire rainbow of lilac; Lockhart at book signings; Lockhart smiling brilliantly at nothing at all. "Mark, my boy, call me Gilderoy! At least in private."

Mark grinned. First names implied equality, as was fitting for a hero and the Boy-Who-Lived. He liked this man. "So why did you want to see me, Gilderoy?" It was the first time he'd called an adult by his first name.

Every one of the great man's perfect teeth were visible. "Do you remember how we met on Diagon Alley?"

Mark nodded; it was one of the best memories of the summer. He loved photo shoots. "We made the front page!"

"That we did, my boy!" the man agreed, still beaming. "Front page! My sales skyrocketed, and I received dozens of letters asking, _How did you meet Mark Potter?._"

"I got letters too, loads of them," Mark confided.

The white teeth were almost glowing, reflecting the bright light of Lockhart's office. He didn't seem to notice Mark's interruption. "And I thought to myself, _Poor boy. Famous at such a young age; he doesn't know how to handle it._"

"I do _so_ know how to handle it," Mark snapped.

Gilderoy shook his head indulgently. "How many photo shoots have you had, Mark? How many interviews? And have you even thought about an autobiography?"

Mark frowned. "I don't _need _an autobiography. Everyone already knows about me."

"And that's why your autobiography will be such a best-seller!" cried Gilderoy. "A famous story, almost as legendary as my defeat of the Walla Walla Werewolf, from the hero's own mouth! How did defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named affect who you are today? What did it feel like? And I understand you've had some family drama going on, too?"

Mark nodded. Gilderoy's enthusiasm was catching. Now that he thought of it, Harry's jealousy would make a really interesting story.

The elder hero beamed, his perfect teeth almost glowing. "Foul relatives! A brother, driven from you by his own dark jealousies! Think of the audiences it could receive!"

Mark's grin was almost as wide as Lockhart's. "Yeah," he muttered, his thoughts brewing in his head.

* * *

Hermione had posed the question first, trying to change subject: Why was Salazar's statue now solid gold? She'd been wondering about that all day.

Harry, still overwhelmed by his friends' support, casually replied, "I was dumb enough to let Norberta guard the Stone. I really should have known better; dragons love gold."

It took a few moments for the impact of his statement to sink in. Then Hermione released him. "_Harry Potter, how did you get your hands on the Sorcerer's Stone?_" Neville stared at him in amazement. Only Blaise remained calm.

"D'you want me to explain?" the black boy asked. His friend nodded, and Blaise cheerfully related how Harry had acquired the legendary alchemical artifact. Harry occasionally cut in to clarify a detail or two. When they had finished, Hermione wore a slightly catatonic expression.

Neville sat down heavily. "_Blimey, _Harry, what else do you have to tell us? No, no," he shook his head, "don't tell us. I don't think I can handle much more. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

Harry grinned. His shock had lifted; now he was jubilant. They knew! His friends knew, and they still trusted and accepted him! He laughed. "Don't worry, Nev. That's all I can think of." He laughed again as the other boy heaved a sigh of relief. "For now, at least."

Neville groaned.

Hermione, however, was pensive. "Harry…" she said very slowly, "why do you have these memories instead of Mark? I mean, Mark's the-" Her eyes went very wide. "No, he's _not,_ isn't he? _You _are!"

"I thought you said there wasn't anything else!" cried Neville.

Harry reddened. "Er- actually, that's not that important."

"_Not that important?_" Blaise repeated. "The defeat of You-Know-Who is _'not that important!_'"

"Boy-Who-Lived is just a title," Harry explained. "Voldemort- oh, don't flinch like that- he remembers the night, and I didn't do anything. I just kind of sat there and stared at him." The boy's eyes were distant. "Mark was brawling away; it really annoyed him. But what really made him furious was how I just sat there. I mean, the bravest men in the world feared his name, and some little half-blood baby was sitting right in front of him and staring away. He hated me then; he still does."

Tears began to trickle down Harry's face. "So he picked up his wand and he cursed me. _Avada kedavra. _It bounced off right _here-"_ he brushed his scar- "right into what was left of his heart, and it _hurt. _He was burning alive, melting in acid, the flesh dripping and oozing from his bones. His marrow boiled and his veins burst, and it _hurt._" Harry shuddered, forcing himself to quit remembering. "And I think that's when I got the memories, because I can't remember anything after that."

Hermione, Blaise, and Neville looked at each other with wide eyes. Any secret hope that Harry was lying, or mistaken, or just mad had died in that speech.

* * *

_Albus, you must listen to me! _cried the Sorting Hat.

_I have, _replied the headmaster calmly, coldly.

_Tom Riddle! _the hat repeated. _Albus, why do you refuse to do anything? _

_Because the risk is minimal compared to the potential for gain, _Dumbledore replied. His voice was that of a kindly grandfather; his words were anything but. _Mark Potter must be trained. _

_I know, I know: the Boy-Who-Lived needs to be strong,_ the Sorting Hat snapped, _but letting Slytherin's heir run loose is too risky. Can't you find something less dangerous? _

_Can "less risky" prepare him for Voldemort? _

As always, the mention of Voldemort unearthed a deep satisfaction in the headmaster. The Sorting Hat shuddered; something wrong seemed to surface. Albus Dumbledore's Occlumency shields kept even it out- but sometimes they wavered, thinned, and the hat could glimpse its master's plans.

It could not even see the shape of Dumbledore's plots, but they always filled it with dread. The dread had grown lately, especially when the headmaster mentioned Mark. When Mark was the topic of conversation, Dumbledore always filled with anticipation, satisfaction.

What had happened to the young Albus Dumbledore? Where had that bright, charming boy gone? The hat could remember Albus' Sorting very clearly; after seeing how the child had treated an ill classmate, it had actually considered placing him in Hufflepuff! But now, there was a dark cloud always enveloping the headmaster's mind, and so few realized that the gentle first year was long dead.

_And what, pray tell, do you intend to do if Slytherin's monster gets out of control? _

_Kill it, of course. _There was no regret in Dumbledore's voice. _If Riddle loses control of his pet, I shall manipulate him into bringing Mark down into the Chamber of Secrets. There he will kill the beast- with your help, of course. _

The hat had no face, but it still grimaced bitterly. He and Fawkes both knew the plan: they would fly down into the Chamber in Mark's hour of greatest need. Fawkes would distract the basilisk, while the Sorting Hat would give Mark Godric's sword. The brat didn't deserve it, of course, but as the other option was letting Riddle and poor Saysa kill him there was really no other choice.

Poor Saysa, the artifact thought glumly. Why oh why did my masters ever place her under that curse?

Fifty years ago, when the Heir of Slytherin began Petrifying students, the Sorting Hat had been appalled. It could remember the young, strong Saysa, so determined to fulfill whatever destiny the Founders had cut out for her. In the darkness of the Heir's reign, it had seemed that the kind young basilisk had grown into a rampaging monster.

The hat had believed this for forty-nine years, only to be disillusioned by the young Harry Potter. He had come for answers, and during their conversation last spring, the hat had learned the truth about Saysa. Admittedly, they hadn't actually discussed her, but Harry's Occlumency shields had been frayed, and once the hat glimpsed Saysa in his mind it had to dig deeper.

Saysa had rebelled against Riddle. The Sorting Hat had never considered that all the students but one had been merely Petrified, not killed, and it seemed that Myrtle's death had been an accident. Even Riddle had been surprised when she died.

And now Dumbledore wanted to subject Saysa, the students- the entire Wizarding _World! _– once more to the Heir of Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat knew it had to stop Dumbledore. But how could an inanimate object stop the greatest manipulator in Europe?

* * *

Draco Malfoy glared at the younger boy. A sneer marred his oily features.

Beside him, Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint frowned speculatively.

Harry pretended not to notice them, but inside he was laughing. Eyes half shut, he flipped his broomstick over for a heart-stopping moment, then righted himself with a grin. The boy made it look effortless.

He loved flying even more this year. Flying was one skill he hadn't gained from Voldemort.

Harry dropped into a steep dive, his old school broom groaning in protest. At the last possible second, the young Parselmouth jerked his broom parallel to the horizon. His toes almost brushed the grass. Laughing, Harry spun around three times, then came to a halt. "Now you try," he ordered the figures in front of him.

Hermione looked slightly green. Neville was pale and horrified. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

Harry shrugged. "It's easy."

Hermione looked at him through narrow eyes. "Is this a part of your 'instinctive' knowledge?" she asked, using their new euphemism for Voldemort's memories.

"No," Harry replied, stifling his irritation. Hermione blushed, realizing how her question could have been offensive.

"Well, who's going first?" the Parselmouth queried, gesturing at the other school broom.

His friends blanched. Neither wanted to attempt Harry's insane aerial techniques.

By then, Malfoy had had enough. "Get off the field, Potter!" he bellowed.

Harry ignored him. Malfoy glared angrily at Flint. The captain gave a start and snarled, "Off the field, Potter!"

He waved jauntily back at the steaming captain. "Lo, Flint. C'mon Hermione, Neville, let's watch him on the broom. Flint's a good flyer, and you might pick something up from him."

Flint blinked. Compliments from Harry Potter were rare, and the second year was such a good flyer himself that this praise was twice as precious.

Fortunately (or perhaps not), Flint was spared the need to reply by the furious shouting of Oliver Wood. "Oi! What're you doing here?"

The Slytherin grinned. "Practicing, of course," he sneered.

"Practice some other time," his rival snarled. "The Gryffindor team has this field booked. I booked it myself!"

Flint shook his head. "A pity, kitty cat. I have a specially signed note from the Head of Slytherin House right here." Smirking, he took a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it at the steaming Gryffindor.

Wood's face darkened as he read the note. " '_I, Professor S. Snape…'_ What new Seeker?" He glanced dubiously at Harry.

The boy shook his head. "No, it's Draco here. I'm not sure how he managed it, though."

Malfoy fumed. Potter had spoiled his grand entrance, and now the Gryffindors were all laughing at him! "Shut your mouth, you filthy little blood traitor!" he hissed.

"You're calling _me _little? Wow, Draco, pot and kettle." Whatever that meant. The Mudblood Gryffindors began snickering.

Then Potter's horrible brother stood up. "The point is," he snapped, "_we _have the field. So you dirty snakes can just bug off!"

"_We _have a note from Professor Snape himself! You might have forgotten over the summer, boy, but he's your teacher."

The threat, naturally, flew over Mark's head, though his more intelligent teammates looked somewhat nervous. "Well _our _Head of House is the Deputy Headmistress!" He faced Draco with an expression of open hatred.

Harry sighed. Why did no one see the obvious solution? "Or _maybe _you could train together."

The students gawked at him like he'd transformed into a giraffe.

The young wizard continued explaining. "There are two Quidditch teams here. All you need to do is hold a game."

Holding a Quidditch game in a Quidditch field was almost a new concept to them. Yet it was… somewhat obvious- and an excellent opportunity to humiliate the other House.

"We'll need a referee," Wood said slowly, eyes fixed on Flint. "Longbottom!" Neville jumped. "Get into the stands."

Flint snorted. "A Gryffindor, Wood? Find someone neutral!"

Harry could have screamed. He turned to Hermione questioningly, but she shook her head. "They'd never accept a Muggle-born," she murmured. "And anyways, I don't know the first thing about Quidditch." The girl frowned speculatively. "Although some other Ravenclaws do. I'll find someone from our team."

"Would a Ravenclaw work?" Harry interrupted. Wood and Flint halted their argument, stared at him suspiciously. "Hermione's finding someone from her House's team."

A Ravenclaw was acceptable, it seemed, for both captains nodded reluctantly. Harry hid a grin, wondering how many people would hear about this.

The turnout was better than he'd imagined. First in ones and twos, then in packs of ten or more, students exited the castle to cheer for their teams. Some arrived before Hermione's referee and the official start of the game; most came after. Because of this disorder, the cheering fans didn't have time to separate into House sections. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs shouted side by side with Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Harry himself made sure to stand between a group of Gryffindors and a few fans from other Houses, cheering as loudly for his brother's dexterity as he did for his own House team.

The game was on.

* * *

"I hate Quidditch," muttered Hermione.

"As do I," agreed the girl beside her. She had grown over the summer, though not enough to need new robes, but her cool expression remained the same.

Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass were unlikely friends. One was a bookish Muggle-born, the other was a detached but powerful pureblood heiress. Nevertheless, Daphne felt closer to Hermione than anyone else in their disparate little group.

"And I can't understand why Harry went through so much trouble for this," Hermione continued.

"I think," Daphne explained, "that he was mostly trying to defuse the situation between Flint and Wood. The game, for him, was just a bonus."

Hermione laughed. "Probably." Then she sighed. Daphne was a part of their group, but only on the fringes. She didn't know about Voldemort's memories; she didn't even know about Saysa and Norberta and Sisith.

And Hermione couldn't tell her anything. She couldn't betray Harry's trust. If Daphne were ever to truly become a part of their team, Harry would need to make the first overtures.

"Why so sad?" asked Daphne.

Hermione forced a smile. "I'm not sad, just pensive." She changed the subject, knowing that Daphne probably didn't believe her. "Do you remember my summer project?"

Daphne smiled. "Of course. It's truly amazing, Hermione. Not many people would even conceive of hunting down our headmaster's fingerprints."

Hermione blushed. "I feel sorry for Neville, though. He believed in Dumbledore so much."

"So did you."

She merely sighed again. "Do you know of any way to distribute this information? My first thought was Better than Binns, but that's too obvious."

Daphne grinned. "Spoken like a true Slytherin. We're beginning to rub off on you, Hermione." Then her expression became thoughtful. "Most of the families I know of would either refuse to believe your chart or be glad that he is restricting Muggle-born rights. Direct distribution wouldn't work."

Hermione sighed heavily. So much for that approach. "The people need to know this," she murmured. Then she groaned. "I didn't want to do this. No one credible will believe it…."

Her friend smiled. "We truly are rubbing off on you if you have a Plan B. What do you propose?"

"There's a first year in my House with… er… connections to the media," Hermione explained.

"You know the Prophet will never print this."

The Muggle-born blushed. "You're right. No decent paper will print this about Dumbledore. Have you ever heard of the Quibbler?"

* * *

I'm glad that's over. It really felt like a filler, even though it wasn't. I mean, Harry finally told his friends about Voldie, Luna is sort of getting involved, and the Sorting Hat is attempting to form a conspiracy. I mean, this is an important chapter, so why does it feel like a filler?

Anyway, the next chapter will be a LOT better. If I think that chapter six is a filler, I'll need to get my head checked.

-Antares

_I'm sorry you feel that way Antares, I for one love what Harry's "I got something to tell you" means. It's pretty funny. It might feel like a filer cause you covered a lot of information within the span of a day or two. Or is could feel like a filler cause you used this chapter to tie up some loose ends and start some new story trails at the same time._

_-Tetsurga_


	6. Hidden Hope

Halloween!

* * *

_Hope deferred makes the heart sick, _

_But a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.- _Proverbs 13:12

Time passed, as time was wont to do.

Hermione and Daphne went to Luna Lovegood with their chart. Instead of crying out in horror or accusing the two second years of slander, she simply took their chart. "It might not come out for a while," she told them in a dreamy voice, ignoring the elder witches' shock. "Daddy is in the Amazon looking for the proof of the rare Quetzalcoatl dragon's existence, and his editor has the strangest priorities. Why, I don't even think he believes in Quetzalcoatl dragons!"

"Neither do I," murmured Hermione, but she made sure that Luna couldn't hear her.

After talking to Luna, Hermione noticed that the other first years (and even older students) were mocking the poor girl. She herself once might have joined in or kept silent, but after meeting Saysa and learning Harry's secrets Hermione knew that nothing was impossible (even if it was ridiculously unlikely). Now, whenever Luna was being harassed, Hermione always forced the prefects into action.

She was rewarded for these efforts two weeks later, when Luna slipped her a copy of _The Quibbler_. ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: FIEND AND FRAUD! screamed the headline. Beneath it, a smaller subtitle advertised proof of the rare Quetzalcoatl dragon.

Blaise's stepfather wrote a letter which had the Slytherin steaming. Apparently, Endymion was very fond of music and insisted that his "new son" try out for the Hogwarts choir. Much to his surprise, Blaise was accepted in. Even more shockingly, he soon began to _like _it.

Not that he would ever tell anyone, of course. Whenever Harry or Neville teased him about it, Blaise would just shoot off a complaint and change the subject.

After Harry's rant in the Chamber of Secrets, Neville hunted Mark down and attempted to explain Dobby's warning to the fake Boy-Who-Lived. Instead of being afraid like a sane person, Mark smiled brilliantly and ran off to tell Lockhart, leaving Neville alone in the cold halls. The older Gryffindor stood there for a few seconds with a slightly open mouth, then charged after Mark.

"Wait up!"

Mark glared. "Why?" he snapped. "Lockhart and I can handle it."

Neville's brain whirled. He could only imagine what the bumbling Defense professor would do with this knowledge. Lockhart would probably tell Dumbledore and ruin all Harry's hard work. "Ah- er-" Then he found an excuse. "Wouldn't Lockhart just claim all the glory for himself?"

Harry's twin was stunned. "Yeah," he mumbled to himself, "yeah, he would." Then the boy grinned. "Thanks, Neville. D'you want to be my publicist?"

The Gryffindor gawked. "Er- no thanks," he finally managed to say.

Mark shrugged and left for his next private lesson with the phony professor.

Harry himself spent his free time talking with the serpents in the Chamber or researching werewolves in the Hogwarts library. Most of the accounts he threw away in disgust. He kept only the historical and zoological accounts, discarding the hysteria making up most of werewolf lore. Voldemort's memories helped with this research, for he himself had learned much about all kinds of magical creatures- if only to manipulate them. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord had limited his research to magical cultures and abilities, not to the creatures' histories.

Ironically, it was Gilderoy Lockhart who provided Harry with his best lead. The teacher was completely incompetent, and his classes consisted mainly of students acting out scenes from his books (somehow, Crabbe and Goyle always ended up playing the monsters), and it was only by chance that anything useful came up.

Harry was sitting in the classroom, letting his mind sift through Voldemort's memories. He focused on the Dark Lord's curse of DADA, idly wondering if its effects could be accelerated. He was mentally running through the runes making up the curse when Lockhart's loud, carrying voice broke through his torpor: "-Back to human form!"

Harry's head jerked up. Had the werewolf transformed naturally, or was it something Lockhart claimed to have done?

"Now of course," the fraud told his class, "the Walla Walla Werewolf was stunned to be human again, and immediately fainted with the shock." He frowned. "Goyle, I said that the werewolf fainted." Goyle obediently lay down on the floor. "I immediately called for medical attention- Greengrass, you can be my Healer- more for the beast than myself, of course. The shock of the Homorphous Charm has been known to kill them."

The Parseltongue grinned, not at the "known to kill them" part, but at the name.

In the depths of his mind, a memory flashed forth. Voldemort had briefly come across a mention of the spell once in Transylvania. The then-young Dark Lord hadn't had time to learn it, though, for he had been undergoing important negotiations with a local clan of vampires and was somewhat pressed for time.

Harry raised his hand. Lockhart, who had been recounting how he had constructed a silver cage for the wolf, stared at him in suspicion. Harry had a habit of asking difficult questions. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

The young wizard smiled sweetly. "Could you teach us the Homorphous Charm, Professor?"

Lockhart's smile froze. "Ah- I'm afraid it's far too complicated for second years, Harry."

But Harry wasn't listening to his answer. He was looking into Lockhart's mind.

"_So then," said the old wizard to an attentively listening Lockhart, "I performed the Homorphous Charm on Freiderick. He had no idea what was going on- didn't believe magic even existed." _

"_What does it look like?" Lockhart asked, scribbling notes. _

_In an instant, the older wizard had his wand in hand. "_Wotan translycanis!"

Harry grimaced at the evidence of Lockhart's fakery, but he couldn't help but be relieved. There was a way to control the transformation, even if was involuntary on the werewolf's part.

Then he smiled as another thought appeared. _Voldemort _had never known this charm.

* * *

Midnight struck.

Twelve bells chimed in Hogsmeade, floating over its residents without disturbing their sleep. They had grown used to the nocturnal noise long ago. The few residents still awake smiled, happily anticipating the next evening's Halloween party. October 31 came on a Saturday that year, and celebrations would last from dawn till long after dusk.

The chimes died as they entered the Forbidden Forest, but they were not needed there. The woodland's mundane creatures had no need for timepieces, and its more exotic inhabitants could sense the turn of the day.

A few beasts outside the forest also recognized the magic. A few owls faltered in their flights, allowing their prey to escape. Hunting cats fluffed themselves up with a small hiss before returning to their escapades.

Three creatures beneath the castle were the most affected of all.

"**Happy Halloween, Norberta, Saysa," **hissed Sisith the snake. He stifled a chuckle at the stunned expression on the dragon's face. **"I thought that 'no pathetic human festival' would ever touch you?" **

"**Shut up, vassal." **

"**Hush, Norberta," **ordered Saysa, shifting into her human form. Her golden eyes, safe only now, fixed them with an irate, nervous stare.

"**Why're you like that?" **asked Norberta. **"Your other form is much better." **

"**Because I need hands to prepare for Harry's visit. Because I must speak with his friends as well." **

"**At this time?" **Norberta protested. **"Humans are lazy. They won't be here for hours yet." **

Saysa turned her serpentine eyes on the dragoness. Something in that gaze made Norberta fall silent.

"**Hopefully," **the basilisk murmured to herself, **"the enchantment will still work. 'Twas designed for stone, not for gold." **

Norberta flinched, regretting for the first time what she'd done to Salazar's statue.

Slowly, solemnly, the Guardian of the Chamber approached her master's statue. Her companions were silent, knowing they watched something of immense importance.

For a long moment Saysa stood there, watching. Finally she spoke: **"Salazar, now is the time of the Lightning Speaker." **

For a while it seemed that nothing would happen, that whatever spell had been placed on the megalith had not survived. Norberta looked down, ashamed. **"Mum, I'm-"**

It was the first time she had acknowledged her true relationship with the basilisk.

Saysa's shoulders slumped. **"Don't be sorry, Norberta," **she sighed. **"We never knew if it would survive for such a-" **She cut off with a gasp.

Slytherin's statue was melting.

* * *

Blaise yawned groggily, one hand wiping the sleep from his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well lately; strange dreams woke him gasping in the middle of the night. Dreams of Harry clutching his scar and crying out in pain, of Lucius Malfoy with a demon's eyes, of faceless children, one wearing a snowflake pendant, in chains. He knew that the nightmares were caused by the shock of the past two months- who wouldn't be stunned at Harry's revelations?- but that didn't make him feel better.

"How're you doing, Blaise?" asked Harry, sitting up in his own bed.

Blaise grunted, wondering how the younger boy had known he was awake. When the nightmares had started, Harry had taught his friend the _Muffliato _charm so Malfoy wouldn't know about them. Harry himself had warded his bed with that for over a year.

"I'm a Parselmouth, Blaise. I speak snake, not _ungh." _

"Shaddup, snake-boy."

"You're a Slytherin too. Are you still going to visit Saysa today?"

Blaise's jaw cracked. "Course. I mean, there are only three days in the entire year when I can actually talk to her."

Harry grinned at him. "If you actually worked on your Parseltongue, you could talk with her all the time."

The black boy rolled his neck. "Just let me get ready, Harry. I'll be down in an hour."

The younger wizard frowned slightly. "Okay, Blaise, but I think she wants to talk with you and the others even more than you want to speak with her."

Lovely. There was nothing quite like guilt in the morning. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

One thousand and seventeen years.

Had it truly been that long? Saysa could remember her birth clearly, the cramped darkness of her egg, the sudden urge to strike up, up, up, hitting the borders of her world with a tiny egg tooth, finally breaking free to the glorious sunrise. She could remember the startled toad jumping away in alarm, filling the air with its panicked croaks.

Most of all, though, she remembered him. Dear Salazar, only middle-aged but so tired from fear and persecution and betrayal. He had looked at the tiny serpent in surprise, then broke into a smile. Saysa had loved him instantly, though she knew not then what love was.

"**You have a purpose, dear one," **he'd told her, gently picking the infant serpent up. **"You are to guide and guard, and I do not know what will come of it, but if I and my comrades are successful the world will sing your praises forevermore." **

"**Oh," **she had replied, not knowing what half of that meant but understanding that her birth was no accident.

Salazar nodded. **"Your name, little basilisk, is… Saysa. Do you know what it means?" **

"**Yes." **

Hidden hope. Shadowed treasure. It was a name fit for the Guardian of the Chamber of Secrets. And now, after one thousand and seventeen years, that hope would hide no longer. The shadowed treasure would come to light.

In front of her, Hermione trailed off. "Saysa? Are you all right?"

"Of course I am," she murmured.

Hermione looked embarrassed. "It's just that you seem so distracted today." Her eyes flickered towards where Salazar's statue had once stood. Saysa followed her gaze.

In the place where her master's feet had been was a perfectly circular hole, dark except for the thin golden rod jutting from its center. Within the abyss hung a tightly curling stairway, each metallic step floating on nothing. Hermione, Harry, and even Neville had all asked about it, but Saysa would not let them enter until Blaise arrived.

As though the stairway had summoned him, the young wizard materialized in the center of the cavern. His jaw dropped at the sight of the nonexistent statue. "What in the name of Merlin happened here?"

"That's what we've been wondering," Harry grumbled. Sisith hung over his shoulders, dark eyes following the basilisk.

"Come," Saysa murmured, gliding towards the stairway.

The four humans- it should have been five, but Saysa could no longer afford to wait- shot each other nervous glances. Then, hesitant, they walked over and gazed down the hole. It was very deep.

"Come," she repeated. "Norberta, will you come as well?"

There was a moment of silence. The children were apparently wondering how a half-grown dragon could fit down the narrow tunnel. Then a tense shape materialized out of the shadows.

"Not one word," snarled the dragoness in slightly accented English. She glowered at them with a dragon's eyes in a human's face. The girl was about five feet tall and only a year or two older than the true humans. Norberta's shoulder-length hair was short, giving her a boyish appearance, and as dark as Saysa's. Her short, thick fingers clutched uncomfortably at her bronze robe; she did not like clothing. Blunt nose pointed high in the air, Norberta stalked to her foster-mother's side.

Saysa sighed, wondering why she'd bothered teaching Norberta to shape-shift.

She stepped onto the first of the yellow steps, lightly touching the central pole for balance. Instantly the pole began to glow, lit from within with a bright white fire. Hermione gasped softly. Norberta snorted, trying to project an air of indifference.

"Have you ever wondered," Saysa asked, not slowing her descent, "how the Founders came together?"

There was no response except Neville's embarrassed cough. Saysa continued, "They came from the four corners of Albion: Godric from Wales, Salazar from Norfolk near Londinium, Rowena from Scotland, Helga from the far south of Wales. How did these four people come together and create this school?"

For a moment no one spoke. Then Hermione shyly ventured, "You once told me that Slytherin was a prophet. Did he… predict… that the others would come here?"

"Yes. That was Salazar's reason. But what of the others?"

Silence, save for their footsteps and nervous breathing. Then Hermione gasped, freezing in midstep. Neville, behind her, nearly knocked her off the stairs. "They were all seers!"

Saysa allowed herself a smile. Rowena would be proud indeed to have such a pupil. "Yes. All four had the curse of Sight, the ability to see the shifting strands of time. Seers were more common in those days, so when each declared his or her intention to venture to this place, few stood in their way. On their journeys they met even more seers… and learned their prophecies."

Hermione's eyes went wide. Saysa continued, "When they finally met, the four noticed that many of their prophecies, as well as those of the others, shared a common theme." She fell silent, waiting for the inevitable question.

"Well, what _was _it?" Blaise was the one to demand an explanation, just as Saysa thought he would.

By then, she had reached the bottom of the stairs. Before them stood a granite doorway. A diamond shape was lightly etched into its surface. Each of the figure's corners was carved with an indented shape: a key, a disc, a snowflake, and an oak leaf. In the center was an even smaller indented ring.

"Our Portkeys," breathed Hermione. Trembling, Neville lifted his oak leaf and slid it into its corner above the ring. It fit perfectly, part of the wall.

Harry looked pale, sick. His eyes were distant. Then he turned a haunted gaze towards Saysa and breathed, "He went after me and Mark because of a prophecy. Snape gave it to him, but he only heard part. Trelawny- she's our Divination teacher, I think- she made it." He shut his eyes. "_The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_" He shuddered.

"I had not heard of that one," Saysa told him honestly. Then a thought struck her. "The seventh month is that of Julius, correct? Harry, were you born a Leo?"

Harry nodded, then grabbed his Portkey and shoved it into the center. It entered with a clicking sound.

"_Harry _is the common theme?" Neville exclaimed incredulously. Hermione gasped again. With a shudder, she placed her own ivory key into its place east of the ring. Harry just looked sick.

Blaise, amazingly, seemed pleased. "It makes sense," he muttered.

The others gawked at him. He glared back. "Well, it _does. _Harry, you've already incapacitated a Dark Lord, and your current goal in life is fixing Slytherin House and then the whole Wizarding World." He beamed. "Don't you _get _it? This means you'll succeed!" Still grinning, he took out his own flat obsidian disc and deposited it beneath the ouroboros. For a moment, a turquoise band shimmered across his eyes.

Saysa smiled and mentally thanked dear Godric for placing so many charms on her Chamber. Without the spells making its inhabitants more open to the truth, not even Blaise the Seer would have believed.

The boy's eyes grew wide, then sad. "It's not going to be so easy, though, is it?" he queried wearily. Saysa shook her head, and the boy sighed. "Where is the other one?"

"I have it," Norberta growled. Neville jumped. He'd apparently forgotten about her presence. Shooting the Gryffindor a filthy glare, the young dragoness walked forward and shoved a delicate snowflake into its place west of the ring.

The outline of the diamond burst into light. Green and brown emanated from the oak leaf, spreading up to the snowflake's silver and blue and down into the disc's turquoise and gold. On the other side, Hermione's key shone with indigo and violet. The colors met, mixing, blending, creating an incredible luminous display and spreading inward until they met the ring. It, too, began to glow, a circle of white fire. Even Norberta gasped.

Then Saysa reached out and deftly plucked the ouroboros ring from the wall. Instantly the light died, and the Chamber's residents blinked away spots. Only a gray wall and the four Portkeys remained.

"Come," she ordered for the last time, and stepped through the wall. On the other side was the ancient library of Hogwarts' four Founders. It was not overly large, as it only contained a few dozen archaic spellbooks, a Bible, and the Seers' assembled prophecies. Three worn wooden tables were placed in the triangular room's corners, each with its own candelabra and four padded chairs.

"Oh," breathed Hermione, her eyes glazing over. "_Oh._"

Saysa laughed, the anxiety of a thousand and seventeen years dissipating. She had done it! The Speaker was here, and with him were three of his friends, a serpent, and a fiercely protective dragoness. Only one piece of the puzzle was missing, but Saysa had faith that the Daughter of Frost would arrive soon. Still smiling, she walked over and deftly plucked a book from the shelves. "You cannot read the originals, as my friends spoke a different tongue than you," she told them, ignoring Hermione's disappointed moan. "However, once each decade I visit Hogsmeade to see how English has changed. I've made translations into each variation of English I found, as well as Latin, the eternal language." Hermione perked up again. The basilisk gestured. "Here are my most recent translations."

"Only four?" murmured Hermione, disappointed. She didn't seem to notice their thickness.

Saysa nodded. "One for each of them, and for the prophecies each encountered in their travels. I've organized them so that one prophecy and its possible interpretations appear on each page." She smiled sadly. "I have had much time to think about them."

Hermione froze, suddenly sympathetic. "Oh," she said, very softly. "What a lonely way to live."

Saysa shook her head. "Do not grieve for me, Hermione. It is not such a bad life, especially considering that my kin and I are not welcomed in the world of men. I do not regret how I spent my years, merely that there have been so many. This day marks the thousand and seventeenth anniversary of my guardianship."

"It's your birthday?" Neville asked blankly. Norberta shot him a faintly accusatory look.

"You could call it that." She shrugged. "It has never truly mattered to me except as Samhain, the great festival of the Fae." Golden eyes fixed on Harry, who was running his fingers gently over some of the older books. "And while we are on the subject of the Fae, they wish to meet with you tonight."

Harry jumped. "What? Wait- a bunch of fairy-things from another dimension knew all this before I did?" He looked vaguely offended.

The basilisk gave her friend a teasing stare. "They were born before you, and there was always a chance you would not become the Lightning Speaker. 'Twas your choices that made you who you are, not destiny, just as your companions' choice to befriend you made them who they are."

Blaise jerked. "We're ment- no, of course we are. Why else would you invite us into this place?" His eyes narrowed. "But there's supposed to be one more, isn't there? Another with that snowflake. A girl?" The turquoise band flared again.

Saysa sighed. "Yes, the Daughter of Frost is missing, and I have no clues as to her identity. But three _are _here, and Harry needs to know this."

"Daughter of Frost?" murmured Neville. "What are we called?"

Saysa opened her book but did not look at it. She had memorized this passage, and most of the others, long ago. "You, Neville Longbottom, are meekness and humility, hope and font of hidden strength, the Prince of Flowers." She turned to the curious Blaise. "You, Blaise Zabini, are wryness and wit, ambition and keen of sight, the Smoking Mirror." Her golden eyes met Hermione's. "You, Hermione Granger, are intelligence and learning, wisdom and breaker of the riddle, Truth's Messenger." The eyes settled on Harry. "And you, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, are the Lightning Speaker, through whom the others gain their strength."

The four humans looked distinctly uncomfortable. Norberta was wide-eyed, but at Saysa's glance she reddened and assumed an expression of forced indifference. "You are mentioned as well, daughter."

Instantly the bored face vanished. "Really?" she exclaimed, reaching for the books (though what she wanted to do with them Saysa didn't know, for Norberta couldn't read). Then she froze, apparently remembering the humans. The dragoness shot them a murderous glare, teeth bared, and stalked back to her foster-mother's side. "As if I want to be."

Blaise chuckled. The two serpent-women ignored them, though it clearly took Norberta quite a bit of self-control. "You are, though. They called you 'the Lady.'" She did not mention that one prophecy mentioned a Lady serving Harry. Norberta did not need to know that quite yet.

Blaise choked. Norberta snarled. The other humans and Sisith took on innocent expressions. The dragon's glare enveloped them too, giving Blaise a chance to double over in silent laughter. Saysa almost laughed herself, but she turned her attention to Harry instead. "We should probably go to the Fae now, Harry. I do not know how long our audience will take." From the depth of her tunic Saysa drew several bizarre items: an iron chain bracelet, a twig of rowan wood, and a few old holly berries. "Wear these. The Winter Queen has promised you protection, but her sister may attempt to trap you."

Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed in determination. "Right."

Hermione was concerned. "Harry, doesn't this sound dangerous? All the stories I've heard say that the Fae never let their human captives go."

"But I'll need the Fae, I think." Those green eyes watched Saysa, who nodded. Harry frowned with determination. "Well, then, to the Fae I go."

* * *

Norberta the dragon sat grumpily in the corner of Saysa's library, bitterly jealous. She'd thought that the basilisk was hers, but now the older serpent's loyalties lay with Harry. No. They'd always been with Harry; she was just now learning it.

She sighed as another wave of sadness crested and broke. By the first serpent! She hated being sad. Norberta growled, transforming her sorrow into wrath. This stupid human form was making her weak.

"This is incredible," the annoying human female exclaimed for the _millionth_ time. She didn't even bother looking up from her book, too rapt in its word-scribblings to reenter the world. Beside her, the weak human male nodded in agreement. He, too, held one of the books. It was open to the first few pages, and he was reading it with wide eyes.

The dark-skinned human male was the only one sitting down. He was lost in the prophecies, smiling slightly.

The female moaned. "I wish I'd brought a quill and parchment. These prophecies… they're fascinating, but I doubt Saysa would let us take her books out of the Chamber." Then she sighed. Norberta prepared herself for another of the human's rants. "I feel so sorry for her. Saysa, I mean. She's spent her whole life here… it seems such a waste."

Norberta was stunned. A human understood the idiocy of these prophecies? The dragoness felt her opinion of the annoying human female- Hermione- double. "You're actually right," she admitted, surprised.

"I wish we could do something for her," muttered the weak male. Norberta barely stopped herself from gaping. _He _cared too?

The dark-skinned human looked up from his book. "Didn't she say that today's her birthday?" he asked.

Hermione's head jerked up. "That's it! We can throw her a birthday party!" Norberta, in the corner, wondered why anyone would celebrate the day of her birth. After all, it was just a day like any other, useful only for keeping track of age.

The males- Neville and Blaise- seemed enthusiastic at their friend's odd idea. Humans were so strange. "I can get a cake from the kitchens," Blaise suggested. He grinned. "Just don't expect me to get all those candles." The others laughed at his bizarre comment.

"I'll ask Professor McGonagall how to Transfigure streamers," Hermione said.

Neville nodded, grinning. "I'm in charge of presents, then, right?" His friends nodded and he turned to Norberta. "What do you want to do?"

The dragon blinked at him.

"Why don't you dust the Chamber?" suggested Hermione. Norberta gaped, appalled. What did they think she was, a sniveling _brownie? _But before she could disillusion the fool girl, Hermione cried out, "Excellent! Saysa will love it!" Beaming, she dashed to the door, snatched her Portkey, and ordered, "Bring me back!" Then she was gone.

The insufferable dark-skinned human was smirking at her. Norberta bared her teeth. Still grinning, Blaise gestured to Neville and ambled to the doorway, took his own Portkey, and vanished. Neville shrugged and did the same.

Norberta snarled. _Her, _clean! They were all mad.

Nonetheless, when Hermione did come back with an armful of yarn, most of the Chamber's scattered skeletons had vanished, swept aside by Norberta's long tail. The girl smiled (rather smugly, in Norberta's mind) and took out her wand.

Hermione was silent as she cut up the yarn, and in that silence Norberta froze. She raised her head, eyes sliding smoothly into the second sight of not-colors and not-smells innate in all magical serpents. The witch's aura flared, but Norberta paid no attention to that.

An unfamiliar aura was approaching, rife with the scents of decay and blood. Something was _wrong _with that glow, wrong in the same way that Harry's scar was wrong.

Norberta's head snapped towards Hermione. Hermione, who talked too much. Hermione, who cared about Saysa enough to throw her some mad human party.

Suddenly Norberta was human again, grabbing at the startled witch and dragging her towards the steps. "Hide!" she hissed, shoving the human girl down. Hermione stumbled a little but had the good sense to obey.

Then Norberta resumed her true form and, flames rising in the back of her throat, turned to face the invader of her mother's home.

* * *

We all know who that is, huh?

There's not a choir in canon, but every school needs something beside Quidditch and the Gobstones Club. Besides, the mythological Smoking Mirror is strongly associated with music.

Hermione feels OOC- I mean, she threw a birthday party instead of reading. Yeah. But she's a compassionate person, and she really does like Saysa, and she's already gotten through one book. The books will just stay where they are, but Saysa's birthday won't last forever. Besides, I needed Blaise and Neville out of the chamber for the next chapter.

-Antares


	7. Intruders

Halloween part 2 of 2. Enjoy!

* * *

_Can fire be carried in the bosom _

_Without burning one's clothes? -_Proverbs 6:27

Harry blinked in the sunlight, then shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Had he known they were venturing outside, he would have brought a thicker cloak.

Ahead of him, Saysa seemed unaffected. Harry glared at her resentfully; weren't reptiles supposed to be cold-blooded? Yet the basilisk was walking in nothing but a thin green tunic and breeches like it was the middle of July. "Are you all right, Harry?"

He shrugged. "I should have brought a coat."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it." She stood before him, dark hair cascading down, pale hands on slender hips, golden eyes irritated. In the green darkness of the Forbidden Forest, she looked like one of the Fae she was bringing him to.

Harry looked away. "It's… just a lot, okay? I need to think about this."

The serpent-woman nodded sadly. "I know. Your life is difficult enough without me adding to your burdens." Those inhuman eyes suddenly looked very human.

He turned away again, trying to blink out tears. His parents' deaths, his years at the Dursleys', Mark's betrayal, Voldemort's memories, and these ancient prophecies: all tried to escape through his eyes. Saysa backed up, giving him space. When Harry could control himself again, he asked, "What exactly do these… prophecies… say?" He still could not look up, as though her magical gaze were not safe for the day.

"Many things," the basilisk replied gently. "That if your brother were not born, all hope would be lost. You must pass seven Trials within a year and a day, which you did. That you would rip through a spider's web, put on masks and tear them off, take your strength from your enemies. They say, Harry, that you and your friends have the potential to remake the world."

"You said 'potential.' What happens if this doesn't happen?"

Saysa hesitated. "The prophecies are not clear…"

"Prophecies rarely are."

She sighed reluctantly. "There is the small possibility that… failing to meet the prophecies will result in the destruction of the entire world, and the world of the Fae as well. I've exaggerated the danger for their sake, of course, else they'd never help us, but it will probably never happen." For the first time since he'd known her, Saysa looked flustered.

Harry squeezed shut his eyes, "Wonderful."

Saysa's hand touched his. "You have help, Harry," she reminded him. "You have your four companions, your wolf and a dog, three powerful serpents, and all the creatures I can rally to you. The centaurs know of this prophecy, as do the Fae and some of the goblins and dwarves. Even the merfolk will help." The cool, slender hand squeezed. "You are not alone, Harry."

_But the Daughter of Frost is missing, _he thought, _and Mark is a sacrifice. Remus- my wolf- would never believe any of this, and I have no idea who this dog might be. And I'm the linchpin. If anything does go wrong, it's my fault. _

Then Saysa was hugging him, her dark curtain of hair shielding him from the world. Harry shuddered deeply, but her gesture comforted him. "Thanks," he whispered. "I know it's not your fault. I just wish this had never happened."

"As do I," she whispered. "As do I."

* * *

Ginny felt strange. It was like she was half-asleep, watching herself in a dream. The feeling was not unpleasant in itself, but something inside her shrank away from it.

_No, no, _another part said, _go to sleep. Aren't you tired, Ginny? _

_Yes, I am tired, _she thought drowsily.

_Then go to sleep, Ginny. _

_But… _Somehow, all her protests seemed weak and foolish.

_You deserve sleep. _The voice was smooth, persuasive. _You've had a tough time lately what with Mark and Ron and Percy. Wouldn't it feel good just to relax? _

_You sound like Tom, _she realized.

_I am Tom,_ laughed the voice. _Don't you trust me? Go to sleep, Ginny. _

Yes, she trusted Tom. Smiling, Ginny went to sleep. When she woke up hours later, burnt and bloody, she could not remember a thing.

* * *

Harry and Saysa visited the centaurs first.

The first they found was a grandmother collecting acorns. When she saw Saysa, the old woman dropped her basket and broke into a smile. "Saysa! It has been very long since you wandered these paths. Have you finally come to your senses and abandoned your manmade prison?"

"No," she answered stiffly, "neither I nor the Lightning Speaker have abandoned our destinies." She moved aside and gestured Harry into the light.

The boy, who had been frantically searching Voldemort's memories for something about centaurs, was lost. The Dark Lord had stayed away from centaurs, believing them little more than annoying beasts.

He was on his own.

Harry bowed from the waist, flourishing his robes in the weak autumn light. "I apologize for taking so long in coming," he said, voice calm. "And I also apologize for my ignorance regarding your people. I know very little about centaurs. Please, ma'am, will you instruct me in the proper etiquette?"

The old mare seemed astounded. Saysa caught Harry's eye and smiled approvingly. The Parselmouth held out his hand. "My name is Harry Potter, ma'am," he said.

The centaur frowned. "Is this boy the true Speaker, basilisk?" she demanded, ignoring Harry entirely.

"He is," Saysa answered coolly. "He is a Parselmouth and a twin, and he has fulfilled all seven Trials. If you still do not believe, look at his forehead!"

Suddenly the old woman was right in front of Harry, shoving his hair from his brow. Her eyes widened. "Lightning-marked," she muttered. Then she straightened. "Very well. I shall bring you to our archons. My name, Harry Potter, is Barsarbe." Her eyes narrowed. "When speaking to your elders, it is customary to fold your hands on your stomach."

Harry quickly clasped his hands across his stomach. "Yes ma'am," he said meekly.

"I am Barsarbe, foal," she corrected. "My people do not respond to human titles. To show respect, you will address the young as 'archer' or 'stargazer' and the old as 'elder.' Do you understand?"

"Yes, elder," he answered.

For the next few minutes, Barsarbe crammed Harry's head full of information about centaur customs. She did not slow her pace, so Harry and Saysa had to jog to keep up. In the middle of a diatribe about "proper bowing," the elder abruptly stopped. "I have told you how not to make a fool of yourself," she said coldly. "That is all I will tell you. Ask for our secrets, and whether you are the Lightning Speaker or not, you will be banished from our forest."

Harry blinked. "Yes, elder," he said quickly. He understood her anger.

Barsarbe nodded curtly. "Very well, boy. Perhaps our archons will accept you." She thrust aside a hanging curtain of vine to reveal the centaurs' abode.

An area about the size of three Quidditch fields spread before them. The space was almost a plain, with only a few gigantic trees randomly interspersed among the grass. It was bisected by a fairly wide stream, not wide enough to be called a river, with crystal-clear waters and myriad stones on its bottom. Centaurs of all colors wandered through the clearing: bay males with quivers on their backs and dead birds in their hands; roan females carrying buckets of acorns and herbs, palomino children holding toy bows and rag dolls. It was a prosperous community, with everyone going about his or her task with quiet efficiency. Then one of the children, a pale-furred filly, froze. Her eyes were fixed on Harry and Saysa.

Saysa walked in, graceful and confident as a queen. A hush fell over the centaurs. Every eye fixed on her. Some gazes were suspicious, some merely curious.

Four graying elders came forward, two mares and two stallions. "Saysa," said the oldest-looking, a withered mare. "I was barely more than a foal when last you walked these forests. Why are you here?"

"I am not the only one, Charis," she replied. "I bring with me the one for whom I have waited so long." The basilisk gestured. "Come, Harry."

Nervously, the boy walked into the clearing, acutely conscious of the centaurs' gazes. Remembering Barsarbe's lessons, he pressed his hands to his stomach and gave a deep bow. "Archons, if the stars are willing, I would have us speak."

Charis's eyes narrowed. "You have been teaching him, Barsarbe," she accused.

Barsarbe shook her head. "Only what the boy needs to not humiliate himself, archon," she answered. "I have kept the secrets of our people."

"Harry Potter is the Lightning Speaker," Saysa told the assembled centaurs. "He is here to save our world and break it, to give you all the forests of the world."

"We will speak of this in a meet," snapped one of the male archons. His pale eyes watched Saysa balefully. "Harry Potter, so-called Lightning Speaker, you may enter the meet of the archons to present your case."

Harry smiled with relief. "Thank you, archon."

The other stallion looked at Saysa. "You may not follow, basilisk. We already know your merit; now we would know the boy's."

Harry's stomach turned upside down. Without Saysa to guide him, he would have no idea how to deal with these suspicious centaurs. Beside him, the serpent-woman nodded coldly. "As you wish, Bowen." Harry's trepidation increased.

Heart fluttering, he followed the four ancient centaurs out of the glade. Soon they entered another small clearing, a perfect circle centered on a round pool. The unnamed female moved aside yet another curtain of leaves, revealing several odd objects: four golden torques, a wooden bowl, a wicked bone knife, and a curling white horn. One by one, the elders placed a torque around his or her neck, naming him or herself as an archon of the Orion clan of the centaur people. Then they spun around and pelted Harry with questions.

How old was he? What House was he in? How did he meet Saysa? Easy questions, obvious, but there were stranger questions too. Had he ever seen a dementor? What about a werewolf? Could he fight without a wand? Could he shoot a bow? What was his favorite shop in Diagon Alley?

The questions made Harry slightly dizzy. He had no idea why they were asking such bizarre things and even less clue if he was answering correctly. The centaurs shook their heads when he told them he couldn't fight physically and nodded when he told them about Remus, but other than that, they gave no clue. He had the nasty feeling that he was failing some kind of test.

Finally, the archons' barrage stopped. Harry found their silence almost more ominous than their unrelenting queries.

Stavros, the second male, asked the final question. "And what will you do, human boy, to make us follow you?"

Harry's patience wore thin. "What can I do? Only whatever I can, and I don't know if that's enough. All I can do is hope and dream and plan. My hopes are fair. My dreams are jubilant. My plans are practical, and they just might work, but I'll need all the help I can get. Archons, I can't do any single thing to win the alliance and trust of you and your people. All I can do is stand before you honestly and ask for help- not slavery, not bondage, but assistance from equals. Will you help me?"

For a long moment, they stared at him without blinking. Finally Charis ordered, "Take the bone knife and give us your blood."

He stared at them, but willingly took the evil-looking blade and pressed it against his wrist. He hesitated. "In the bowl?"

Voldemort was afraid of shedding blood, of feeling pain. Some of that terror had infected Harry. "How will this help you decide?"

The archons did not answer.

Harry grimaced. It must be another test. Biting his lower lip, he put the bone knife against his wrist and pushed.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle scowled, stalking towards the familiar bathroom. His/her robes billowed behind him/her. At least in _this_ body, the Dark Lord reflected angrily, no one will care if I enter a girls' bathroom.

He/she stopped before the sink and glared. Who would be first to die? Best just let the basilisk loose on whomever. Yes, let luck decide. Hopefully the stupid beast would actually manage to kill someone this time.

Smiling grimly at the thought, he/she ordered the passageway to open and form stairs. He/she rushed down into the Chamber of Secrets. Soon he/she was at the chamber proper, smirking with anticipation as he imagined Hogwarts purged of Mudbloods. It would be pure once again! And soon, he/she could loose the monster on Mark Potter, who had defeated his older self. Potter and his Mudblood fans would all die.

He/she pushed open the door, smiling blissfully in anticipation.

Only dumb luck saved him/her from the dragon fire.

* * *

Saysa finished bandaging the cut on Harry's wrist, her face concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked for the fourth time.

Harry nodded again. "Yes, I'm sure I'm fine. And yes, I'm well enough to meet the Fae."

Saysa still seemed uncertain. "They can be… difficult."

"So are centaurs."

"That is true," she admitted.

"I did meet the centaurs. Saysa, do you know why they wanted my blood?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "I do not. The only thing I can think of is naught but myth."

"Tell me."

"Some say that the centaurs can use blood and the stars to divine a creature's true nature. I have never seen it done myself, for centaurs are a secretive people, but I can think of no other possibilities."

Harry looked at his bandaged wrist in a new light. "Oh. I thought it was just a test so they could know if they could trust me."

Saysa sighed. "Come. I will bring you to the Fae."

* * *

Riddle jerked aside with a stifled curse. The flames caught the edge of his/her robes, setting them alight. He/she aimed Ginny's wand at the burning fabric, quenching the fire. Then he/she spun around and blasted at the dragon that had somehow, inexplicably entered _his _Chamber.

The dragon- a Norwegian Ridgeback, he thought- snarled. **"Get out, human! **_**Now!" **_

"**Basilisk!" **Riddle roared, ignoring the beast's ridiculous demand. **"Come and aid your master! Kill this intruder, now!" **

The dragon's face twisted in rage. **"You command her, and you don't even know her name?" **She lunged, spitting fire again.

Riddle jumped back as pain flared in his/her eyes, slashing with Ginny's wand. Water shot from it, dousing the dragon's flames but not stopping her physical assault.

The ridgeback couldn't breathe fire anymore, but she was still deadly. The horned head dropped low, aiming for his/her stomach. Riddle cast the Conjunctivus Curse, but the dragon's eyes were closed and the spell bounced off her scaly eyelids. A great tongue tasted the air, and glistening fangs snapped at Ginny's body.

Two could play with fire. Ginny's wand flared with light as a burning whip sprouted from its tip. The dragon, eyes still closed, spun towards him/her again. She would be helpless.

"Norberta!" screamed a voice. "To your left!"

Stunned, Riddle moved his/her head, trying to see around the dragon's bulk. All he saw was that Salazar's statue had somehow vanished. He/she snarled a curse in Parseltongue.

"**Ready to die?" **Norberta snarled- and gagged as Riddle shoved the diary into her throat.

Norberta screamed. Smoke billowed from where the Horcrux touched her mouth, and Riddle shot several curses into that gaping maw. Norberta's eyes bulged open, and the Dark Lord aimed for the killing blow.

"Norberta, tail!" the voice cried. The dragon spun around with surprising limberness. Her tail knocked Riddle's feet from under him/her, sent him/her flying. He/she screamed in fury as Ginny's wand went flying. Furious, he/she scrambled towards it- but another got there first.

A small, indistinct shape in Hogwarts robes dashed out from behind the dragoness and snatched up the wand. Riddle couldn't see any details, only a blurred silhouette in the dark of the Chamber. The dragon's fire had wounded his/her eyes.

The dragon spat fire again, catching Riddle's stolen arm. He/she shrieked. The dragon shrieked too as the flames scorched her wounded throat. She was crippled for the moment, but any second she would recover enough to use her mouth and claws.

Riddle turned and ran.

* * *

Harry followed Saysa through the Forbidden Forest nervously. He'd been in it several times during the day- most Hogwarts students had entered it at least once- but never before at night. The sun was falling rapidly, and the white crescent of the moon already lit up the sky.

Harry had the nasty feeling he was being watched, and he didn't like it.

Saysa froze abruptly, listening. Her friend stopped, straining to hear. Faint threads of unearthly music wafted over him: flutes, pipes, lyres, horns, and other, stranger sounds.

"The Fae," Saysa murmured. Then she spun around, faced Harry, her golden eyes glowing in the dim light. "You have your protection?" He nodded. "Good. They are dangerous, and the Summer Queen may try to keep you in their world. Eat nothing. Drink nothing. Touch no one. Speak not to any but the Winter Queen. And above all- don't look anyone in the eye."

Harry gulped. "R-right."

The basilisk's eyes filled with pity. "Forgive me. I am paranoid. As long as we are cautious, we will be safe."

The Parselmouth nodded.

"Follow me," Saysa ordered. Harry followed.

* * *

Tom Riddle ran through the halls of Hogwarts, not caring if anyone saw him/her. Ragged breaths escaped his/her panting mouth- Ginny didn't run often. Soon he/she had reached his destination- the Owlery.

Riddle stopped there, gasping, thinking. Another Heir had come, another Heir with access to the Chamber and the creature therein. A girl, from its voice, had for some reason brought a dragon into Slytherin's ancient domain.

The wizard bared his stolen teeth. A rival! Someone who had entered the Chamber of Secrets and lived, as only another Heir could do. Yet this Heiress, this cousin of Lord Voldemort, had not loosed the beast within. Hogwarts was still infected with Mudbloods and blood traitors. The Heiress had let them walk free!

No, if this were an Heir of Slytherin in spirit, the school would run red with the blood of the unclean. Riddle hated to admit it, but there seemed only one possible explanation.

The second Heir of Slytherin was a _blood traitor. _

He/she hissed furiously. A filthy blood traitor in _his _Chamber, controlling _his _basilisk, was more than he could bear. No, the Heiress would have to be dealt with- quickly.

Yet Riddle could not afford to face her. Due to the blinding dragon fire, he didn't know who she was, but she had seen Ginny's face. She would come after the girl and discover the diary, and that could not happen.

Growling, he/she rummaged through Ginny's bags, wondering where the cursed girl kept her parchment and quills. Soon he/she had found one. With long, angry strokes, the possessed Gryffindor penned a letter. Then he/she grabbed a startled owl and tied both the letter and the diary to its leg.

As the owl soared off, its eyes glinting red, Ginny Weasley shook herself awake. The girl frowned, bemused, at the myriad owls. "What am I doing here?" she muttered.

Then she felt the pain in her arm.

Ginny gasped. One sleeve had been burnt completely off, and the flesh beneath it was charred. Bright blood trickled over the darkened skin. The girl whimpered as another wave of pain assaulted her nervous system.

What, she wondered, scurrying down from the Owlery, in Merlin's name had happened?

* * *

The court of the Winter Queen was like nothing Harry had imagined.

The Fae had come to a sylvan clearing, much like the centaurs' glade, yet that was where the similarities ended. Centaurs would have never put all those immense tables along the clearing's north end, nor would they perch in the trees, nor would they wear such jewel-bright clothes.

Three long rectangular tables took up the northern end of the grove, and Harry's stomach moaned just at the sight of them. Food and drink of every shape imaginable filled them. There were dark liquids in silver goblets and paler fluids in translucent glass; mountains of unfamiliar purplish berries that gave off an intoxicating scent; two roast pigs with apples in their mouths; fowl oozing juices; vegetables in rich sauces; fresh-baked breads with butter and jellies; pale sculptures of pure sugar, shaped like trees and castles; a rainbow of cakes and frostings, each more appetizing than the last; fruit tarts; strawberries and cream….

Harry's stomach whined piteously. With a wince, he forced himself to look at the people instead- and promptly forgot all about the food.

The Fae were as many and varied as plants in a rainforest. Some were tall and slender, some shorter and almost stout. Round faces, square faces, oval faces, heart-shaped faces were all alight with joy and revelry. As they danced, the women's loose hair fanned around them: chestnut, beige, gold, ebony, mahogany, sunset, silver, and auburn. Some of the men had grown their hair out, too, but their multicolored locks were tied back in loose tails. Even at a distance, they were the most incredible sight Harry had ever seen.

"Saysa!" cried a copper-skinned man. He was shirtless with cerulean breeches, and more handsome than any human man. Harry glimpsed the man's fever-bright green eyes before focusing on his graceful, pointed ears.

"Back so soon?" the man continued. "Samhain and Beltane, and we did not dance once. Will you dance with me now?"

"I'm afraid not," the basilisk replied, almost Fae herself. "Perhaps later, once I have introduced the Lightning Speaker to the Winter Queen."

The man's brilliant eyes widened. Quick as lightning, he reached out and grabbed Harry's chin. Green eyes met green eyes. Harry stiffened.

Then the man laughed. "Here to meet my Queen, human boy?" he asked. "Once you have, you will not wish to leave. Come. I will lead you to her." He darted across the clearing, weaving through the dancers with the ease of long practice. Harry and Saysa followed, she clutching his hand to make sure he wasn't lost.

"Somehow," Saysa whispered, "the Winter Queen is always separated from me by the entire length of this grove."

As they followed their guide, other Fae came to speak with them. Elegant men asked Saysa to dance, beautiful women called out their greetings, and a few elf-eared children stared silently at them. Saysa smiled but otherwise ignored her fans.

The Winter Queen was magnificent, regal, and more alien than all her subjects combined. She reclined on a velvet divan, pale skin reflecting the light of the moon. Her short dark hair was deeper than the night itself, and her ice-blue eyes shone like stars. She wore no crown, but Harry instantly knew that she was in charge.

He and Saysa bowed simultaneously. "Majesty," she murmured. "I thank you for this audience."

The Queen ignored her. "That young one is your long-awaited Lightning Speaker?" she asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I am," Harry replied. Then, ignoring all of Saysa's warnings, he looked her in the eye.

A sense of yearning moved through the boy, and with it came fear. He suddenly thought of a hallucinogenic mushroom, surreal and addicting. Those eyes- so cold, so inhuman- hypnotized him. He no longer wished to leave the Fae.

A small part of the boy panicked. He had to leave! And yet how could he? After seeing the Fae, what could mortals offer him?

His body- someone else's body- leaned forward. The Queen's eyes watched coldly, waiting.

_No! _He screamed silently. _I can't! _Faces materialized in his mind: Saysa and Norberta and Sisith, Remus and Tyr, Neville and Blaise and Hermione. Mark was there, too, with two ghostly figures standing behind him.

"No," Harry whispered. He had to break free, for his friends, for his family, for the world.

He forced a memory to surface- not his own memory, Voldemort's. _He aimed his wand at the silent boy's face_- the eyes wrinkled in confusion- _and hissed out the spell- _the eyes leaned forward- _and the spell struck, and it bounced- _Saysa's hand gripped his- _and pain annihilated the world. _The eyes were the world.

Harry's Occlumency shields snapped up. Gasping, shuddering, he stepped back from the velvet divan. "No," he hissed.

For an instant, something like respect crossed the Winter Queen's face. Harry met her eyes again, breathing heavily. She smiled coldly, nodded.

Harry nodded back. He dropped his eyes.

"Do you know why, mortal child, my kin and I do not walk your world?" The Winter Queen did not give him a chance to answer. "It is because our raths have been destroyed. If you want the full support of my people, heal the raths. Pave the paths of the void and open the doors between our worlds, and we will assist you."

"How?" he asked, very quietly.

The Winter Queen leaned forward and whispered. She spoke for a long time, very intent and quiet. Finally she finished and turned away. A wordless attendant walked forward and thrust a crystalline vial and rowan-hilted dagger into Harry's hand. He was clearly dismissed.

Saysa turned away, apparently accepting this, but Harry did not. "What proof do I have that you will do this?" he asked.

The Winter Queen glared up. "We will," she said icily. "Leave now, mortal child."

Harry stood his ground. "You have not given your word, Queen of the Fae," he admonished. "I wish for proof." He took a deep breath, hoping the legends were right. "Your people are masters of disguise. I ask, then, that you give me and my companions our own disguises, easily accessible and highly magical. Will you do this, Queen of the Fae, in recognition of our alliance?"

She lay there staring, face unreadable. Behind Harry, her court hissed and whispered. Harry shriveled up inside, losing hope.

Then the Winter Queen laughed. Her laugh was like a snowmelt stream, carefree and beautiful.

Her court did not laugh.

"You wish for another form, Lightning Speaker? Yes, that is within my power." She tossed up her hands. Four glowing orbs appeared and flew off. They were, Harry noticed, the same colors as the Portkeys' lights.

"And here is yours," the Queen whispered. She leaned forward and- pushed- something into Harry's chest.

The boy gasped. Cold suffused him, cold like winter's heart. His blood thickened and slowed, fingers and toes going numb. Everything was numb. Blackness swirled on the edge of his vision.

And then it was over.

Harry straightened himself. He felt odd, alien in his own body. He looked down and beamed- his hands were a man's hands. "I thank you, Majesty, and swear to you that I will restore as many raths as I can."

Her cold blue eyes glittered in amusement. "Don't thank me yet, mortal child."

He frowned. "With your leave, Majesty." He turned around- to Saysa's wide and horrified eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"I- I'll tell you when we are back," she whispered.

They walked back through the forest in silence. Finally, when neither could hear the Fae, Harry again demanded, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Harry," the basilisk sighed, "it means nothing. You are whoever you choose to be. You are Harry Potter, Lightning Speaker, whosever your face may be." Saysa looked him in the eyes. "Harry, they have given you the shape and form of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

* * *

Duh duh duh… it's a double cliffhanger (again!). As Tetsurga told me, "The Fae can be mean." It's politics. Anyways, this whole new form thing is one of the main reasons I included the Fae. Harry and his friends need new identities that they can easily shift into and out of. The Fae could provide this easily, and it was the only way I could make Harry look like Tom. He wouldn't exactly choose that form on his own, but I love the idea of him fulfilling all of Tom's wasted potential.

On a related note, does anyone have any suggestions for name? Hermione is going to be Pallas something, Neville will be Winston Chamberlain, I have no idea about Blaise, and the Daughter of Frost will be Bianca something. I especially need a first name for Harry; his middle name is Pollux and his surname is Riddle. If anyone has any suggestions that sound cool and make sense, leave them in a review with an explanation as to why you want that name. Thanks!

-Antares


	8. Birthday Presents

These past few chapters have been so much fun to write… this one'll be fun too.

On the other hand, I've been having trouble with chapter 9, which is when the big plot of the book is revealed. It's not going to be out for a while; sorry.

_When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous, _

_But dismay to evildoers. –_Proverbs 21:15

Harry dropped out of his borrowed form instantly, face filled with disgust. "No wonder she was laughing," he growled. By now, all the Fae undoubtedly knew about his memories and the significance Riddle's form had for him. It was simple politics: the Winter Queen had to give into Harry's concessions, but she couldn't appear a pushover before her court. Harry understood intellectually, but that comprehension didn't stop him from mentally cursing the snowy Queen.

"Riddle's form changes nothing except your clothing size," Saysa assured him.

Harry blinked at her. Suddenly, he was very, very tired. He'd been up since early in the morning, and midnight was fast approaching. The young Parselmouth was running on fumes, and he knew it. "Can we Portkey back, Saysa? It's been… a really long day."

The basilisk nodded sympathetically. "That it has been," she agreed. Harry held out the ouroboros ring- the Lightning Speaker's ouroboros ring- and whispered, "**Hope." **

He and Saysa materialized in the Chamber of Secrets without a sound. For an instant, the silence was unbroken. Then three voices started yelling.

"_Petrificus Totalis!" _

"_Stupefy!" _

"_Locomotor mortis!" _

Harry was caught in a full Body-Bind and the Leg-Locker Curse. Saysa threw herself onto the floor, narrowly avoiding a Stunner. Neville, Blaise, and Hermione, wands out, stared at them with wide eyes. Behind them towered the bronze-and-black bulk of Norberta, apparently asleep.

"Oops," muttered Blaise. Neville began babbling apologies.

"What _happened?" _demanded Saysa. Hermione, who had been reviving Harry, looked up. Her eyes were filled with tears.

"Someone came into the Chamber and attacked Norberta," she whispered. "Norberta drove her away, but not before the girl hurt her. I managed to get a glimpse, it was a young girl with red hair, and probably a first year, but I don't know who she was. There was a diary that burned her mouth, and then she shot several advanced spells- wordlessly!- into Norberta's throat. Then- Harry, what's wrong?"

"A diary?" he asked hoarsely. Not enough air was entering his lungs; his heart was racing. "Bound with red leather, about this high and this long across?"

"You-Know-Who," muttered Blaise.

Hermione nodded, sniffling.

Harry gasped violently as new memories slammed into his mind: a dark, damp cave with a necklace at its heart; a decaying shack that hid a ring; Ravenclaw's diadem in that odd hidden room; Hufflepuff's cup amid piles of gold-

"Horcrux!"

"What?" his friends chorused.

"I'll explain later," Harry panted. "All you need to know right now is that that girl was possessed by Voldemort. Sort of. The Voldemort possessing her is only sixteen."

Everyone but Saysa jerked back. The serpent-woman's eyes blazed in hatred then grew wide in fear. "He seeks to control me again," she whispered.

"Control you?" Hermione was confused. "Just don't listen to him! Saysa, you don't have to obey anyone, especially not a Dark Lord!"

She shook her head. "We thought the Speaker would come from Salazar's line, so my friends bound my will to Slytherin's blood. I can't disobey anyone descended from him."

Hermione looked ready to argue, but Blaise quickly interrupted. "Me and Neville weren't here, just the girls. We didn't see anything except the possessed girl's wand, and that was about an hour after she attacked."

"Wand?" Harry parroted. "Show it to me!"

Neville procured the item, sweating nervously. Harry aimed his own wand at the other's tip. "_Priori incantatem!" _

Evil-looking purple squirted from the other wand's tip. It floated in the air for a moment before dissipating. Another image, this one a bolt of bruise-yellow light, materialized. It, too, vanished, followed by a ghostly blade.

Harry blanched. "He- she- whatever- hit the inside of Norberta's mouth with these?"

"Yes," answered Hermione.

"We have to get her help," the Parselmouth whispered. "Hagrid. He'll know what to do. We have to get her to Hagrid." He stared despairingly at Norberta's bulk. "If we don't, she'll…"

Saysa leapt towards her foster-daughter. Her hands pressed against the dragon's side. Suddenly Norberta was human again, small enough to be carried. "We must hurry," she told them, looking exhausted. "This will only last until midnight."

"I'll get Hagrid," Hermione vowed.

Saysa shook her head. "I can move more quickly. Hagrid lives in the hut near the forest, yes?"

Neville nodded, grabbing Norberta's feet. Blaise held her shoulders. "We'll put her in the forest by the pumpkin patch," he whispered.

Saysa nodded, darted off. There was silence.

"C'mon," Blaise finally said. "We have to get her out before midnight."

His friends nodded, and the four began to walk.

* * *

Awareness came back to Neville slowly: first a vague feeling of warmth, then a few muffled noises from the Common Room. He groaned softly, rolling over. The Gryffindor didn't want to get up; he just wanted to sleep…

But sleep didn't come, so, with a reluctant sigh, he forced himself out of bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows; it seemed to be ten or eleven o'clock. Neville frowned, wondering why he'd slept so uncharacteristically late. Then, remembering, he flew into a flurry of activity.

Within half an hour, he was back in the Chamber of Secrets. It still bore the marks of the previous night: the missing statue, yarn that hadn't been transfigured into streamers, a cake shaped like Hogwarts Castle, a few small presents by one of the pillars. Saysa herself was curled into an exhausted ring along the wall. She was still fast asleep.

Neville grimaced. "I'll just be going then," he whispered, careful not to awaken her, and quietly headed to the back door. Soon he was in the Forbidden Forest, retracing his steps from the night before.

Norberta lay where he had left her, a motionless heap of dark scales. Neville watched her for a few minutes, then sighed heavily. He couldn't tell if she was any better. The boy patted her shoulder in farewell and wandered disconsolately back into the castle.

The library was almost empty; very few students spent their Sundays there. A pair of seventh years browsed the Potions section, Madame Pince watching them with beady eyes. Neville wandered over towards the Care of Magical Creatures books- and jerked back.

Hagrid was there, filling the aisle with his bulk. The man's eyes were red and moist, his hair wild. In his immense hands Neville could see a book on dragon health. More dragon-related books were tucked under the giant man's arm.

"Er- hello, Hagrid," he said shyly. Neville was a little frightened of the wild-looking behemoth.

"'Lo, Neville," mumbled the groundskeeper. He did not look up from his book.

The young wizard winced. He wasn't supposed to know about Norberta at all, much less that she was currently incapacitated. He wandered to the Great Hall, wondering unhappily what to do next. He waved at Hermione and Daphne Greengrass, then plopped down at the Gryffindor table. His stomach rumbled, and he jumped.

The young Gryffindor picked disconsolately at his baked beans. He was pondering seconds when a phrase caught his ears.

"-lost my wand," Ginny Weasley told her brother miserably.

Neville dropped his fork. Trying to be surreptitious, he scrutinized her, remembering Hermione's description. _Red hair, _she'd said, _not in our year, or I'd have recognized her, but very close to us in age. _Ginny was a red-haired first year, and she had lost her wand.

Neville's eyes grew wide. What was he supposed to do? You-Know-Who had possessed this girl before; what if he did again? No, no, he had to be calm. Wasn't he in Gryffindor? He was _supposed _to be brave.

If Ginny really had been in the Chamber last night, Hermione would know. Hermione would recognize her, but Ginny might recognize Hermione. Trying to be casual, he walked stiffly to the Ravenclaw table. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. "Hello, Neville," she sighed.

He greeted her back, then paused nervously. He could hardly blurt out that Ginny Weasley was being possessed by a Dark Lord. Hermione frowned. "I- have you seen any wands lying about lately? I overheard a first year in my House saying that she'd lost hers." He held his breath.

Hermione's eyes went wide. She understood. Neville fought back a grin; he wasn't as cunning as Harry or Blaise, but he wasn't stupid either. "Who?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"Ginny Weasley," Neville replied, "the one with red hair. See?" He pointed her out.

Hermione went rigid. She glanced up at Neville, nodded slightly. "No. I don't have anyone's wand but my own. Let's go… ask Harry."

"Yes," agreed Neville. "Let's."

After about ten minutes of searching, the two friends found Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, sadly talking with Sisith and Saysa. The basilisk was awake by then, and her expression was sad.

"Harry!" burst out Hermione. "Neville found her!"

The boy jerked. "What?"

"Neville found You-Know-Who's host. It's Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley's younger sister!"

"You mean that little redhead who worships my brother?"

Neville and Hermione nodded vigorously. Harry's face broke into a huge grin, then a frown. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing. Just… Voldemort- quit flinching already!- might have moved onto another host. Ginny might not have his diary any longer."

Neville was crestfallen. "So finding her might be pointless?"

"Of course not!" Harry replied. "Even if she doesn't have the diary, she might know where it is." His face hardened. "We _have _to destroy that diary, and the rest of the Horcruxes."

"But what is a Horcrux?" Hermione asked unhappily.

"Blaise is due here in… about an hour. I'll tell you when he gets here. Until then, can you just help me find Ginny?"

Neville groaned softly; this was one of those things Harry only wanted to speak of once. In other words, it was something quite, quite nasty. "She's in the Great Hall."

Hermione glared at him. Harry smiled. Soon the three friends were walking casually down the Hall. Harry walked over to Ginny, smiled brilliantly. She (and her brother, Ron) glared hostilely back. "I heard that you lost your wand. What does it look like?" His voice was sympathetic.

"You heard wrong," Ron said coldly.

"My mistake, then," Harry replied genially. His shoulders, though, were filled with tension.

"Does she have it?" whispered Hermione the instant they were out of earshot.

Harry shook his head. "She kept thinking stuff like, _I can't believe that my diary and wand vanished in one day!_ And she keeps flashing back to how she found herself in the Owlery yesterday with no memory. Voldemort- fine, Riddle, if you _must _react like that- obviously sent the diary to someone else, probably Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. Neville decided to change the subject. "Harry, why aren't we just using the Portkeys? I mean, they're not damaged or anything from yesterday."

"I have to pick something up first," the boy whispered. He glanced around and dropped his voice even further. "There's another Horcrux hidden in this building, and Saysa's going to destroy it for us."

What _was _a Horcrux? wondered Neville. Undoubtedly something bad. Just thinking about it made his stomach clench.

When they reached the seventh floor's tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry stopped. He looked at the wall opposite, then smiled grimly and walked three times before the wall. A door appeared. Neville blinked, but he wasn't overly surprised: it was, after all, Hogwarts.

Harry darted into the mysteriously appearing room. "Meet you in the Chamber," he said. Hermione and Neville glanced at each other. Then, sighing, Hermione took out her ivory key.

When Neville arrived, Blaise and Hermione were already there. Blaise was explaining to Saysa about her birthday party. The basilisk didn't seem to be paying attention.

Then Harry materialized, holding an old diadem with an expression of extreme distaste. "_This," _he said angrily, "is one of Riddle's Horcruxes."

"Yeah, Horcrux," muttered Blaise. "That explains everything."

Harry shot him a withering glare. Blaise stopped talking.

Neville listened in horror as Harry told them exactly what a Horcrux was. He told them about Voldemort's five- the diadem, the goblet, the diary, the ring, and the necklace. "We have to destroy them," he finally concluded.

Hermione began thinking out loud. "The diadem is right here… with your memories, Harry, it will be easy to find and destroy the necklace and ring… the cup, though, that will take a while… and destroying the diary means breaking into Lucius Malfoy's home." She sighed. "And even one is enough to keep him alive."

Harry nodded grimly. "But we _do _have one here, and I can get two more when Norberta recovers enough to fly." He turned to Saysa. "I thought that since you're the first one he hurt, you should destroy the first. And the diary, too, of course, but that will obviously have to wait."

"**Thank you," **Saysa replied very quietly. **"Close your eyes." **She hissed something else, which Harry translated as, "She needs to see it."

Neville obediently squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the rustle of Saysa's belly scales on the floor, and then a furious voice hissed, **"Stop!" **in the imperative singular.

Neville jerked, almost opened his eyes. That wasn't Harry's voice.

Then the air filled with an agonized, hate-filled scream. Neville trembled. The scream seemed to last forever, and he wondered in horror if the Horcrux even _could _be destroyed, or would it just keep screaming and screaming and-

Silence. Saysa hissed something about eyes in a quiet, sad voice. Neville opened his.

The diadem lay in a twisted silvery heap upon the floor. Wisps of ugly black smoke trailed off it, thickest around a round puncture wound at its base.

"Looks dead to me," Blaise said quietly.

"It is," whispered Harry. He grinned. "It _is._ One down, four to go!"

Hermione laughed, relieved, and the latent tension in the room evaporated. Neville grinned; he knew that there were other Horcruxes out there, and that You-Know-Who himself was still at large, but the twisted diadem filled him with hope. Maybe He-Who-Must- no, _Voldemort_- wasn't undefeatable after all.

"Let's celebrate," laughed Blaise. "D'you think that cake's still good?"

"Why is there a cake in here, anyways?" Harry demanded, still grinning.

"It was for Saysa," Hermione explained. "We were trying to throw her a birthday party while she was still human. It obviously didn't work."

The basilisk turned her head. She was silent for a moment, then hissed something. Neville caught the words for "thank you."

Hermione reddened.

"What first, cake or presents?" Neville cut in shyly.

"She doesn't care," Harry translated.

"Presents it is, then," declared Blaise.

Neville had been in charge of the gifts, which was a difficult task. After all, most things were made for humans, not snakes, so he couldn't exactly get her clothing or books. The time limit made things even worse.

Gift-opening was somewhat difficult, as Saysa's eyes were deadly and she had no hands. They settled into a routine: a human would open the gift, then everyone would shut their eyes to let Saysa see it. She would tell Harry where to put it, thank Neville (Saysa was very polite), and close her eyes again. In this way she received a small Wizarding radio ("I really hope it works in here; I don't think the Chamber has the best reception"), an Angel's Net seedling from the greenhouses ("It's kind of like the Devil's Snare, but it has flowers and doesn't try to kill you"), and an excellent photograph of Hogwarts itself ("This boy in my House took it, he loves taking pictures"). It wasn't exactly a standard birthday party, but all six of its attendants had a blast.

Neville and his friends didn't think about Horcruxes for the rest of the day, nor did they wonder how Saysa had defied the diadem's command.

* * *

After supper, Harry and Hermione went to visit Hagrid. He didn't answer the door at first, only coming out after three long minutes of pounding. When the groundskeeper saw who it was, he burst into tears.

"Whoa!" yelped Harry as the giant fell into his arms. His expression was confused and slightly panicked; he obviously didn't know how to deal with the man's emotions.

"Norbert's sick!" wailed Hagrid. "I mean, Norberta's sick! My dragon!" He collapsed into tears again.

Harry looked lost, so Hermione took over. "Shh… let's just go inside and have some tea, and you can tell us all about it."

Hagrid snuffled, but he did what Hermione told him. As they sat in his little hut (which was now filled with books about dragon care), Fang lying by the fireplace, Hagrid told them what had happened.

"I was jes' comin' back from 'Ogsmeade- it was Halloween, an' they always throw a party down there- an' I'd just gone into bed when someone star'ed knocking at my door."

"Who?"

Hagrid's face filled with wonder. "I don' know. Have yeh ever heard o' the Fae?"

Harry smiled dryly. "Once or twice."

Hagrid nodded. "Well, then, yeh'll know what I'm talkin' abou' when I say she was Fae. She was taller 'n Perfesser Dumbledore, with long black hair, an' she was more beautiful than any mortal woman." His face, now red-tinged, assumed a slightly dreamy expression.

Hermione choked. Harry blinked at her. Hagrid didn't seem to notice. "A' firs' I thought it was a dream, yeh know? She was one o' those people who belong in dreams, bu' she was as real as yeh and me. She tol' me to git up an' hurry, 'cause Norberta- Norbert's a girl, it seems- was sick. So I followed her, and I almost wondered if she were bringing me to the world of the Fae, but she led me right to Norbert… a… and then she disappeared." His expression become mournful, and not entirely because of the dragoness.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or start crying. There was something deeply ironic- and disturbing- about their beast-crazy groundskeeper fancying a basilisk. "Oh. How is Norberta doing?"

Hagrid blinked. "Better. His- her- throat's all burnt up an' swollen, but I think h- _she'll_– recover." He smiled. "Who knows? Mebbe when she's better, the Fae woman will come back."

Oh, _no. _She had to head this catastrophe off at the pass. "Don't the Fae only come a few times a year?"

The giant was crestfallen. "Oh. Well, I'll just wait until Beltane."

_No you won't!_ Hermione wanted to scream. _She's a basilisk- a GIANT SNAKE- and she's about fifteen or twenty times your age, and you don't know her at all, and she's not even a mammal, and- _

"Lots of flowers round Beltane," Hagrid murmured speculatively, and Hermione went into a coughing fit.

"Harry, could I talk to Hagrid privately?"

He blinked. "Er-sure." The Parselmouth got up and seemed to leave, but was probably lurking around listening in on their conversation.

Hermione cast the _muffliato _charm and turned to Hagrid. "You _fancy _her?" she moaned.

Hagrid reddened. "No," he lied quickly.

"Yes, you do," Hermione hissed. "Hagrid, she's-" a basilisk, the same one who got you _expelled_ "-Fae. They're _dangerous." _

"Not her. She saved Norberta," Hagrid replied, and an expression of such lost lovesickness came onto his face that Hermione gave up.

* * *

A bit of a shorter chapter, and _way _more lighthearted than the last few. I mean, we've got a birthday party and the most hilarious crack pairing on the face of the earth (at least I think so. I might be crazy). There are so many things _wrong _with HagridXSaysa, even when it's one-sided, that I just double over laughing. This… interesting… pairing is going to give Hermione a lot of distress and us a lot of laughs. Hagrid and Saysa will meet again (maybe Beltane, I don't know yet), and Hagrid will be like a little lovesick puppy and Saysa, of course, will be utterly clueless. It'll just be _so great. _

On a completely unrelated note, the thing about Saysa disobeying the diadem Horcrux is _not _a plot hole. I did that very deliberately. See if you can figure out why. : )

-Antares


	9. Ad Insulam Fundatorum

_When your eyes light upon it, it is gone; _

_for suddenly it takes wings to itself, _

_flying like an eagle toward heaven. -_Proverbs 23:5

* * *

The seventh years ambled cheerfully down the streets of Hogsmeade, laughing. "What happened next?" demanded the first.

Her friend grinned. "Well, I wasn't about to let him- hey, Thalia, what's wrong?"

The third, a pale brunette, shook her head. "I just realized I forgot something," she said. "It's over by the Shrieking Shack."

"Oh," shrugged the story-teller. "We'll wait for you, then."

"No," Thalia replied. "I want you to come with me."

"What, afraid of the ghosts?"

"I just want you to come with me." The brunette's voice was strangely lifeless.

"Of course we'll come. Right, Aglaia?" snapped the first, shooting the story-teller a glare.

"Yeah. Honestly, Euphrosyne, can't you take a joke?"

Their companion didn't wait. She turned, strode down the streets of Hogsmeade with a purposeful air. Her friends had to struggle to keep up.

"Hey, what's the rush?" demanded the story-teller. By then, they were on the outskirts of town.

"Nothing," mumbled Thalia. "I just want to get what I've forgotten."

"Are you okay, Thalia?" asked the first. She tried to intercept her, but her friend kept walking. "Tali, this isn't like you."

"I am fine." Her voice was still lifeless, her eyes empty.

A chill ran down Euphrosyne's spine. "I think that Aglaia and I will just be going," she mumbled.

"But it's too late for that," said a man's pleasant voice. "_Stupefy!"_

* * *

The Great Hall seemed strangely empty that night. Daphne ignored it, though, reasoning that the older students had visited Hogsmeade that day; they had probably stuffed themselves at the cafes.

Sighing silently, the Greengrass heir turned back to her shepherd's pie. It was delicious, as usual, but she hadn't had much of an appetite since her parents had owled her that morning.

"Why so glum?" asked Blaise, turning his attention away from Ron Weasley's eating habits. "You haven't seen anything all night. Even for you, that's saying something." There was concern beneath his banter.

Daphne fought back a grimace. Blaise and Harry had been acting strangely ever since the start of November, vanishing for hours on end and denying their own behavior. Even Hermione, Daphne's closest companion, had become secretive overnight.

"My parents have finished negotiating Astoria's marriage contract," she told them dispassionately.

Harry choked on his mashed potatoes. "Astoria? But I thought she was only ten!"

Daphne kept her mask in place, but inside her heart was breaking. Her poor, naïve sister was thrilled about the contract, but that joy wouldn't last long. Tori's enthusiasm would probably die when she met her fiancé. "Yes. She turns eleven in February."

"Does she know the bloke?" asked Blaise.

The girl allowed herself a scowl. "She doesn't, but I do. One day, _that _will be my brother-in-law."

Harry and Blaise followed Daphne's gaze. Harry's eyes widened. "Please tell me you're not looking at Malfoy."

Daphne's jaw tightened. "I wish I could."

"I don't suppose your parents will break the contract?" asked Blaise.

The girl shook her head. "The Malfoys aren't neutral, but they are powerful. Politically, it's a good match for them; Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy took much longer than Mother and Father expected to agree. Romantically, though… if Draco matures enough in the next few years, Astoria might grow to love him. I doubt that will happen, though."

Harry glowered in Draco's direction. "That's _wrong," _he growled, looking much older and more dangerous than a twelve-year-old. "And there's nothing you or Astoria can do about it, is there."

"No. If Astoria refused, she would be disowned."

"Didn't you know that?" asked Blaise curiously.

Harry glanced at Daphne. "My source has never really cared about wizarding marriage laws," he said carefully. "And he's a half-blood, anyways, so this probably doesn't apply to him." He scowled. "But now I do know, and marriage laws are going on the list of things to change."

Despite herself, Daphne grew hopeful. The laws about arranged marriages had been around for centuries, but if they could be changed, Harry Potter would rewrite them completely.

As Blaise launched into a miniature lecture on the laws, Daphne's attention wandered. She gazed around idly, eventually settling on the High Table. The four Heads of House appeared to be arguing; Professor Dumbledore was discussing something with Professors Sinistra and Kettleburn.

"Most pureblood marriages aren't arranged; it's just the really powerful families who do that. Of course, the parents can only arrange marriages when their kids are underage, otherwise they don't have any right to even think about that kind of contract."

"So if your marriage isn't arranged before you turn seventeen, you're free to go?"

Then a small group of Hufflepuff girls detached themselves from their House table and walked nervously up to Dumbledore. The headmaster broke off from his conversation and began listening to the girls. An alarmed expression flickered across his face.

Daphne frowned.

"Sort of. The parents still have to approve. Like if I wanted to marry… um… Bulstrode (which I don't) and we were both six years older, I'd still have to ask Mum's permission. If she said no, I could either break off the relationship or carry on and be disowned."

"Choices, choices."

"Yep."

The ancient wizard leaned over to his Heads of House, interrupting their conversation in a curt tone. They fell silent and listened. Professor Sprout's eyes widened. She jumped up and ran over to the Hufflepuff table.

"But if the parents have to approve, how did your mum marry so many people?"

"Oh, she just picks up foreigners who really don't know better. Endymion's American."

The other Heads moved at a more dignified pace. Snape was the slowest, gliding over to his Slytherins with a bored air. Clearly, he wasn't concerned.

By then, most of the students had realized something was wrong. Fingers pointed, whispers broke out.

"All students are to report immediately after supper to the Slytherin Common Room," Snape drawled. "We will be taking attendance." His mouth twisted.

Daphne frowned, thinking. The Great Hall's emptiness suddenly took on a new light.

The Hufflepuffs hadn't waited for dinner to end. Abandoning their plates, the badgers followed their Head from the Hall.

Despite Snape's wishes, none of the Slytherins were allowed to leave the Hall by themselves. They had to travel in a crowded, cramped pack to their own Common Room. Daphne, Blaise, and Harry didn't get another opportunity to talk.

Snape moved through the attendance with agonizing slowness. Beginning with the first years, he called out each student's name in a bored voice, irritably marking their presence on a quill. All the first and second years were present.

Every other year was missing at least two students.

Snape glared at his list, then repeated the names of the missing. No one responded.

For the first time, the Potions Master began to look concerned. "Where are they?" he demanded.

No one knew.

"Stay in the dormitories," Snape ordered. He spun around and vanished through the portrait hole.

Instantly the Slytherins erupted into conversation. "What's going on?" "Why are they missing?" "This is probably just some prank." "Do you think they're okay?"

Daphne, though, remained silent. She could think of only one thing: The missing students were all neutral, female purebloods. Just like her.

* * *

"Well, now we know what Riddle's up to," Harry growled, pacing back and forth across the Chamber floor.

"We do?" asked Neville. He fought back a yawn; it was long after midnight, and the castle was still in an uproar.

"We talked to Daphne before going to bed," Blaise explained. "She saw a pattern: all pureblood girls. The ones in our House are all neutrals, but the ones in other Houses are blood traitors."

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, eyes going wide.

"He knows that someone else got into the Chamber," Blaise continued. "He obviously thinks it's some rival Heir- an Heiress, actually." He met Hermione's eyes.

"He's looking for _me," _muttered the horrified Ravenclaw. "He thinks I'm a pureblood- after all, what Muggle-born could enter the Chamber of Secrets?- so he's going after all the pureblooded girls in Hogwarts!"

"So Lucius Malfoy's possessed?" asked Neville.

Harry pulled up short. "Maybe. Or maybe he just recognizes his master's hand. I don't know."

"**Where does this Lucius Malfoy live?" **demanded Norberta, who had recovered from her wounds but not her hate of Voldemort. There was a slightly feral gleam in her eyes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"**So I can raze his home to the ground, of course," **she snarled.

Hermione choked. "Did she say what I think she said?" the Ravenclaw asked in a strangled whisper.

"**You can't destroy his home yet, Norberta. Wait until the prisoners have been freed," **Saysa sighed.

Norberta glowered.

Blaise's eyes darkened. "Wait until… Of course, we might not have to worry about them any more," he declared softly.

Neville sucked in a breath. Norberta snarled.

Harry, though, was shaking his head. "They're alive. Riddle's a pack rat; he won't dispose of anything or anyone who might be useful later on. The girls probably aren't enjoying themselves, but they'll live."

"What should we do?" Hermione whispered. "We have to rescue them."

"Maybe we could alert the Aurors," Neville suggested. "You know, an anonymous tip like Harry gave Rita Skeeter last year."

"Would they believe us, though?" wondered Hermione. "We're only students."

Blaise frowned at her. "Not necessarily." The black boy stepped back with a flourish- and suddenly he wasn't Blaise any more. A white man of medium height stood before them, his short golden hair glinting in the Chamber's eerie light. "Do I look like a student to you?" His voice had changed into a bass rumble. He held the pose for a moment, then reverted to the boy in Slytherin robes.

"They probably won't be in Malfoy's main house," Harry mused. "Too much risk of discovery. Lucius probably put them in his summer home in the Orkneys."

"So we should send the Aurors there," Neville declared. He smiled, apparently thinking the problem was solved.

Harry and Blaise glanced at each other sadly. It was Hermione, though, who burst Neville's bubble. "What would happen to the diary?"

The Gryffindor's face fell. "Oh. I guess the Aurors wouldn't really keep it… they'd probably keep it or confiscate it or something."

"It's a good thought," Harry said encouragingly.

"No, it wasn't," Neville replied gloomily. "The Aurors wouldn't search Malfoy at all… he pays Fudge too much."

Harry hated himself then. Neville shouldn't think things like that; he was- had been- too innocent. But that innocence was dead because of him.

"Maybe we could kidnap Draco," suggested Blaise. He smiled. "At the very least, it would teach the little git some humility."

Hermione glared. "And sink to Malfoy's level?" she demanded passionately.

Blaise threw up his hands. "Hey, I was just joking. It wouldn't work anyways if Malfoy's possessed. I doubt that Riddle gives a half-rotten toadstool about Draco."

"Maybe we could Confund Narcissa," Harry mused.

"What about a truth potion?" Hermione interjected. The boys looked at her curiously. "We could put something in Draco's porridge, then Harry and Blaise could interrogate him."

"But Draco doesn't know anything," Neville pointed out.

Harry, though, was beaming. "I'll bet he knows more than you think," the Parselmouth laughed. "Lucius needs some kind of source so he doesn't accidently kidnap Muggle-borns. I'll bet my wand that Draco's most recent letters home include a long list of pureblood girls."

"That list would look pretty suspicious, all right," muttered Blaise.

"We could make the potion here, in the Chamber!" Neville exclaimed. He glanced at its resident dragon. "Unless _someone _knocks it over."

Saysa chuckled. **"I have a better idea." **

Neville frowned, scrambling through the mental translations. "Really?" he finally asked.

Saysa's green head bobbed up and down. **"I did not tell you because the Daughter of Frost has not yet arrived, but my friends created another refuge for you. It is equipped by a small, though unstocked, Potions lab." **

Deciding to have mercy on his non-Parselmouth friends, Harry translated. "Why did they do that?" he asked curiously.

"**They had many reasons. Helga did not want your activities to accidently harm the students. Godric pointed out that the Hogwarts grounds are well-known to all the wizards in Albion, and an unknown base would give you a military advantage. Rowena believed that you would need more space than the Chamber could provide. Salazar thought it could be used as a space of storage, or as a haven of last resort. Hermione, are you all right?" **

The girl stopped her wordless mutterings and looked up, embarrassed. "I'm fine, Saysa. I'm just trying to translate."

Harry rolled his eyes, then began repeating Saysa's words to his male friends.

"How do we get there?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"**I'll tell you in the morning," **Saysa promised. **"Now, though, you need to sleep." **

"It's not that late," Hermione protested.

Blaise snorted. "It's …two forty-one. That's late enough for me. G'night, all." He took out his obsidian Portkey, mumbled the words, and vanished.

"But-" began Hermione.

Saysa cut her off. **"The isle will not go anywhere, Hermione, but time is precious and should not be wasted. Go to sleep; you will need it. Good night." **

Hermione sighed, but she activated her ivory key anyways. "Good night, Saysa, Neville, Harry, Norberta."

Harry and Neville vanished as well. Blaise was standing in the Slytherin dorms with a cup of water, waiting for his friend.

Harry nodded in understanding, then trotted down to the common room. Both boys knew that they wouldn't be able to sleep.

* * *

Harry and his friends were not the only ones to stay up late. Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, staring intently at the list of missing girls.

Like Daphne, he had noticed immediately that each kidnapped student was a pureblood. Unlike Daphne, though, he knew who had done it. He knew the who, the where, the when, and the how.

He needed to know the why.

Dumbledore had expected Riddle to attack on Halloween- the boy had always liked a dramatic entrance. When Halloween had passed without a sign, though, he hadn't been much concerned. Riddle would awaken the basilisk soon.

Three weeks had passed since then, and there was no sign of Riddle. Dumbledore hadn't been overly concerned at first; many things could have delayed Riddle, and he'd been busy investigating the Fae woman Hagrid had seen (Fortunately, she appeared to be an isolated incident. No other sightings or disappearances had been reported, and all the major faerie raths were still unusable). Only after Dumbledore's fears were assuaged did he return his focus to Riddle- only to learn that the Horcrux had returned to Lucius Malfoy.

The headmaster had been baffled. There was no reason for the Horcrux to return and every motive for it to stay. He'd been monitoring the Malfoys closely ever since.

Now the young Dark Lord had struck, yet he had attacked _purebloods. _At first glance, it made no sense.

But with further thought, Albus could think of several potential motives. None of them were pleasant.

His first fear was that the young Riddle had decided to replace his older self. After all, the true Voldemort had been missing in action for ten years, and Riddle was ambitious. He could be using the girls to blackmail future Death Eaters, or he might be placing them under the Imperious Curse. Yet that was highly unlikely: if Riddle had been looking for money or troops, he would have kidnapped children of both genders.

The second, more plausible explanation was that Riddle was looking for someone about whom he had very little information.

It had to be another Heir. An Heiress, if Riddle were correct in kidnapping females.

Dumbledore silently vowed to find her first.

* * *

Harry's jaw cracked. Hermione shot him a glare. If Saysa heard how tired he was, she wouldn't take them to the other place. Founders' Isle, the basilisk called it.

Fortunately, she apparently hadn't heard. Hermione sighed with relief. "How do we get there?" she asked eagerly. "Is there another set of Portkeys?"

"**No," **Saysa replied. **"Your Portkeys have two destinations. The password for the Chamber is 'hope,' and the word for Founders' Isle is-" **But at that point her hisses became unintelligible.

"That's Latin," Harry. _"Ad insulam fundatorum…_to the island of the Founders."

Neville moaned. "I can barely speak English in Parseltongue!"

"**No," **Saysa chuckled, **"it will work as well in the human tongue." **

Neville looked relieved.

"Shall we, then?" asked Blaise, flashing his obsidian disc.

Harry shrugged.

"Well, then, _ad insulam fundatorum." _

Hermione landed easily; she had long ago become accustomed to the disorientation of Portkey travel. After collecting herself, the girl began examining her surroundings.

She stood about a hundred meters from the gray sea, which blasted against the pale sandy shores with chilly rage. The beach only extended two or three dozen meters, where it was replaced with thin soil intermixed with rock. Stubborn stems of grass clung to the soil, becoming thicker and thicker as the shore became more distant. Further inland stood a squat stone structure surrounded by decaying walls and a rusty iron gate.

Hermione stared at the dilapidated old fortress, suddenly realizing how old Saysa truly was. A thousand years ago, when she had just been a hatchling, the building had been new. Now, though, even with the protection of wards, it was crumbling.

Saysa began speaking. Hermione caught most of the words by herself, but even she appreciated Harry's translation: "We're in the Outer Hebrides islands; nobody knows about this particular place because the Founders apparently put it under the same hiding charms as Hogwarts. There were strengthening charms in the walls, but they obviously didn't hold- they needed to be restored once every few decades or so. The good news is that the inside should be in better condition than the walls. We'll have to repair some things, but it's still structurally sound. It might take us a few days to learn the layout; apparently, Gryffindor designed it to be confusing to enemies."

Because of the kidnappings, classes that day had been cancelled, and Hermione and her friends had plenty of time to explore the castle. As Saysa had warned, its layout was twisting and irregular, with few corners and many curves. Doors were tucked away in unexpected places: on the sides of stairways, a few feet above the floor in a sinuous wall, in a pillar.

Neville in particular found this depressing. "It took me weeks and weeks to find my way around Hogwarts," he moaned. "I don't think I can handle this. Maybe we could get maps?"

Harry, who had been searching for trapdoors, grinned. "That's a brilliant idea, Neville! We can ask Moony to make one."

"That's not _quite_ what I meant, Harry."

Fortunately, the second and third floors, as well as the basement, were more rationally planned. The second story contained the "small, though unstocked, Potions lab," three large, empty chambers that were presumably used for training, and another empty room that appeared to be an unfilled library.

"Oh," breathed Hermione softly. "What should we put in here?"

Blaise and Neville backed away.

"We could steal some defensive books from Voldemort's stash," suggested Harry. "I needed to stop by anyways."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "There can be a defensive section right here… no, we should get another set of bookshelves and move the defense books to the training rooms… transfiguration, charms, history…."

"Our Better than Binns notes, perhaps," joked Blaise.

Hermione missed the sarcasm. "Maybe, if it ever gets big enough. Should we have… no, I'll figure that out when we have more notes. Potions books can go in the lab… we'll need Legilimency and Occlumency, though not many…."

She would have stayed there for hours, but Blaise grew tired with her monologue. "Y'know, Hermione, there's still a lot of castle to be explored."

She sighed.

The third story was separated into five large bedrooms and three smaller ones. Hermione chose the room on the east and spent several happy minutes planning its final appearance.

As a fortress, the castle was almost completely unadorned. The only exception was the carved serpents curving around the corners. Like Hogwarts' gargoyles, the snakes were animate, though they could only speak in Parseltongue. The stone creatures were thrilled at the children's presence- so thrilled that they followed Harry around all day.

When dinner arrived, the four children left Saysa and Norberta (who were deep in conversation with a Hebridean black that had shown up at about ten o'clock) for Hogwarts castle, their minds filled with plans for stocking and renovating their new abode.

Yet happy as they were, not one of them could forget about the kidnapped girls.

* * *

Aglaia Chevalier groaned.

She didn't want to open her eyes, but the hands forced her, peeling her heavy eyelids away. Her vision was blurry; she tried to blink, but the hands wouldn't let her.

A face- unclear and sinister- loomed in her vision. Aglaia tried to jerk back, to escape from the intrusion, but she was too weak.

The eyes were gray and tinged with red. With a hiss of disgust, their owner released her. Aglaia blinked rapidly. Her vision resolved, but nothing she could see made any sense.

She was in a Victorian-era ballroom with gold-flowered walls and an ornately tiled dance floor. And she was not alone.

Girls filled the chamber, standing, sitting, lying down. All wore Hogwarts uniforms: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. The oldest was another seventh year, a Ravenclaw who had recently turned eighteen; the youngest was barely a teenager. But each student, no matter what her age or House, wore an expression of fear, misery, and confusion.

"Aglaia!" whispered a jubilant voice. Euphrosyne embraced her friend in a suffocating hug. "Thank Merlin you're awake. C'mon, you have to help me talk some sense into Thalia."

Aglaia blinked, not understanding. Then she remembered- Hogsmeade, the Shrieking Shack, Thalia-

"What happened?"

"I kidnapped you," moaned Thalia's voice. The brunette's eyes were filled with tears. "I am _so, so sorry." _

"We've been over this," snapped Euphrosyne. "You were Imperioused, or Confunded, or _something, _but it's not your fault."

"But it is!" sniveled the brunette. "And now we're going to be ravished and killed, and I'll never see my parents again, and-" She burst into terrified sobs.

Aglaia looked over at their kidnapper, the only man in the room. He was tall and pale with white-blond hair. In fact, he looked familiar. "Is that Lucius Malfoy?" Aglaia blurted, stunned.

Euphrosyne nodded. "He hasn't done anything else, though," she explained. "All he's done is look into our eyes. It's creepy."

"That's all he's done _yet_," Thalia moaned. "But it's only a matter of time."

Aglaia shuddered. She knew that Thalia was right.

* * *

Finally.

That took so long to write. I was so busy, and these scenes were just tough. I still don't like this chapter, even if it is kind of important. I mean, the plot revealed, the new HQ, schemes- that's important stuff. Even Norberta's new friend is kind of important.

Thalia and her buddies aren't. They're stock characters, completely two-dimensional. I just needed a pair of eyes that we could see the kidnappings through, and those girls provided it. They'll probably show up a few more times, but don't expect to see them in my next few books.


	10. Riddles and Rumors

Everyone, I am _so sorry _for being this late!

I love writing this fic, but unfortunately, it's just a hobby. Life caught up with me in the form of computer problems, a new job (yay!), travel time, internet malfunctions, and a minor case of writer's block. Again, I apologize most wholeheartedly.

Don't worry, though. I've got a special surprise to make up for it.

Other announcements: This series is over a year old! Happy birthday to Sisith, Saysa, and the entire saga!

* * *

_How long will you simple ones love your simple ways? _

_How long will mockers delight in mockery and fools hate knowledge? -_Proverbs 1:22

The Wizarding world did not take kindly to its daughters' disappearance.

There was a lull for the first two days, of course; the reporters hadn't managed to type out their stories yet, but by the day after Harry explored Founders' Isle, the kidnappings had begun to inspire hysteria in the public.

THIRTY-TWO PUREBLOOD GIRLS MISSING, FEARED DEAD! screamed the headlines of the Daily Prophet.

_On November 23, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry filled the streets of Hogsmeade. They separated into small groups, intending to spend a rare and precious day away from the stresses of academic life. These small, unsupervised groups proved easy prey for the largest kidnapping to take place on British soil. _

_When the students returned to their school, they didn't notice that anything was wrong. By dinner, though, many realized that several of their friends were missing. _

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, etc.) immediately ordered the four Heads of House to tally up their students. They did, and the results were staggering. Fifteen Slytherins, six Gryffindors, eight Hufflepuffs, and three Ravenclaws had vanished. _

_While his students were being counted, Headmaster Dumbledore began heightening the school's security and summoned head Auror Rufus Scrimgeor. In a late-night meeting between Hogwarts staff and Ministry officials, Potions professor Severus Snape (head of Slytherin House, which had lost over a dozen girls) noticed an eerie similarity. _

"_All of the missing students had two things in common: they were all females of impeccable pedigree." _

"We know all this already," Blaise grumbled, interrupting Daphne's recitation. "Is there anything else in there we don't know?"

Daphne's eyes scanned the paper. "It has a bit more on the security measures…. Here's a paragraph about yesterday's blood withdrawal…. A statement from Gilderoy Lockhart…" She flipped to the next page. "Nothing here…._Ah." _

"What?" demanded Harry.

Daphne resumed reading. _"No one knows how or why these innocents were kidnapped, but their disappearances are undoubtedly linked to heritage." _

"No, _really?" _

"Hush, Blaise. _So many pureblooded girls would have only been kidnapped by someone who despises purebloods." _

"They're pinning this on Muggle-borns?" Harry blurted incredulously.

"It appears so," sighed Daphne. Her eyes flickered over the words. "Look; it's an interview with the Senior Undersecretary. She thinks that they've been kidnapped by a 'radical mob of Muggle-rights activists.' Apparently the activists are going to kill one girl each day until the Wizengamot passes more pro-Muggle-born legislation."

Harry blinked. "Where did that come from?"

"Other potential culprits include werewolves, goblins, vampires, Death Eaters… anything but another pureblood. It says here that almost a hundred homes were raided yesterday."

"_Those _accusations are so stupid they don't even deserve a response."

"Oh?" sneered a boy's voice. "What makes you think that, Potter?"

The speaker was Theodore Nott, a quiet boy in Harry's own year. Nott wasn't very active, preferring to wait in the shadows and gather information and pass it on to older students, especially the prefects.

Harry sighed. "Werewolves are guarded all day by a group of Auror thugs. Goblins are too conspicuous; unless all of those girls went into the woods, they couldn't have kidnapped so many. Vampires can't go out during the day. Death Eaters are too stupid, not to mention that they'd kidnap Muggle-borns, not purebloods."

Nott frowned, thinking. "And what's your excuse for the Mudbloods, Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Daphne cut him off. This was her territory. "The girls had three things in common, Nott, not just two." She met his eyes; he flinched away, undoubtedly remembering that Daphne Greengrass was heiress to one of the most powerful families in Britain. "They were all either neutral or pro-Muggle. If these imaginary Muggle-born fanatics wanted to kidnap someone, wouldn't they take someone like Parkinson over there? Her parents rabidly support pureblood rights; most of the kidnapped girls' parents either don't vote on those issues or vote in favor of Muggles."

Nott's face was expressionless. Abruptly, he stood up and walked purposefully away, undoubtedly intending to confirm Daphne's claims.

They were true, of course. Daphne had done her own research.

After all, as a pureblooded neutral girl herself, she had reason to be concerned.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore glared in frustration at the thin, delicate vials of blood before him.

He had not wanted to take all the samples, yet there was no other way. The Sorting Hat swore on Gryffindor's grave (an oath it would never break) that it had never Sorted a girl who thought herself Slytherin's Heiress.

And so he had resorted to collecting the blood of every pureblood and half-blood girl in Hogwarts, supposedly to place a tracking charm on them but in reality to find Riddle's target. Dumbledore had spent the past day and night performing the complicated, exhausting spell which would reveal a witch's bloodline. Whenever the bloodline encountered a Muggle, it would stop recording that branch of the family tree; if the ancestor was a wizard, the wizard's parents and dates of birth and death were written down.

Other than a couple of children who were apparently the issue of affairs, he had found nothing interesting. The longest bloodline had gone forty-seven generations, well before the time of the Founders.

With a small sigh of frustration, Dumbledore resumed work. Taking the stopper from another vial, he dipped the Elder Wand into its red contents. Murmuring under his breath, Dumbledore withdrew a single scarlet drop of blood and placed it on a sheet of pale vellum. Still muttering, he traced the girl's name: _Tracey Davis._

As he finished the last letter, filaments of blood broke off from Tracy's name and spread over the parchment, forming into words. Names. Beside him, the girl's blood vanished.

The Slytherin's paternal lineage vanished out in seven generations, but her mother's bloodline kept spreading further and further back. Several of its lines stopped, but a single ancestor was pureblood, and that was enough to keep the spell active.

Maeve MacFinn, 1104-1200… Marcus MacFinn, 1077-1125… and the bloodline stopped.

Dumbledore bit back a curse; he'd been so close! Marcus had been born just generations after the founding of Hogwarts, yet he was not Slytherin's heir!

It was… immensely frustrating.

He looked at the remaining vials (all four of them) and sighed. It was still possible that one of them was Slytherin's heir, but that was highly improbable.

It seemed that Riddle had won.

* * *

Had Dumbledore not been so preoccupied, he might have noticed the strange, unfamiliar owl that dive-bombed Harry Potter in the halls.

The young Parselmouth had been discussing the missing children with Blaise and Daphne as they walked to Herbology class. The next thing he knew, a messy barn owl was flapping its wings in its face. Harry yelped, jerking back. The owl hooted in annoyance and flapped forward. Harry blinked. It wasn't trying to attack him; there was a letter attached to its leg.

"Er-thanks," he said. "Now hold still, will you?"

The owl glared, but it landed. Harry quickly reached down and untied the letter. The letter was rough, too, written on birch bark instead of paper or parchment. The ink was deep blue, possibly made of some berry's juice.

"What on earth?" asked Daphne.

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. He glanced down at the sender's signature and gasped.

_Charis. Bowen. Hesper. Stavros. _

The archons.

Harry shoved the letter into his bags.

Daphne glared at him with cold blue eyes. "I ask again: what on earth?"

Harry's mind scrambled for purchase. Daphne was a valuable ally; more than that, she was a friend. Oh, she wasn't as close as Hermione or Blaise or Neville, but Harry still liked her.

The problem was, he didn't trust her. Daphne was the firstborn daughter of the most powerful neutral family in the Wizarding world, and she took her position seriously. Anything she did reflected back onto the Greengrasses, and it was largely due to the gray family's support that Harry's reform ideas hadn't been laughed out of Slytherin House.

He couldn't afford to alienate her. But there was no way he could tell her what was going on!

"Allies," he finally said. "Allies who probably couldn't care less about House rivalries."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. She understood his messages- both of them. The Greengrasses were only officially interested in restoring Slytherin's reputation, though Daphne herself had expressed clandestine interest in Harry's other plans as well. Because of this miniscule distinction, she couldn't claim that Harry's letter was a threat to their alliance; she wouldn't sever ties with him.

Blue eyes bored into green. Harry glanced at Blaise. The black boy had a sympathetic expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he sighed, "but I can't tell you more. It's not my secret to tell."

She stared a moment longer, eyes like cold agates, then nodded. "Judging from the quality of the… paper… your allies are forest dwellers." She glanced significantly at the Forbidden Forest. "Unless you have somehow discovered a tribe of hermits, might I assume that your new correspondents are centaurs?"

Harry blinked at her.

"I thought so. If your alliance does succeed, however, I would like to meet with these centaurs."

Harry nodded, relieved. "If they agree to it."

The threesome continued to Herbology, where they spent a long and messy morning repotting bloodvines, which had the nasty habit of expelling an odorous red liquid if squeezed too long.

As a consequence, the centaur's letter had a slightly pinkish tinge when Harry and Blaise finally read it during lunch. By the time they'd finished, they were grinning from ear to ear.

_Lightning Speaker, _

_We have considered your proposals without rest. Our decision is as follows: We shall grant training to you, your companions, and any other allies seven times each moon. We will use our abilities to predict the success of your ventures. Whenever the speaker desires, we shall deploy no less than twenty-five warriors to assist in any military operation. _

_In return, you and your companions will report regularly to training; absences will be inexcusable. You shall, if required, act as a liaison between our people and other interested groups. Finally, if you succeed, you will remember the promises expressed by the Guardian when she brought you to us. _

_Your first training session will be exactly one cycle of the moon from the day you met with us. A teacher will meet you at the entrance to the Guardian's home at moonrise. _

_Charis, Bowen, Hesper, and Stavros _

"One full moon?" asked Blaise. "That's tomorrow."

Harry nodded, grinning. "I didn't think they'd agree," he admitted. "I honestly thought I'd failed, but now they've sent us a coded letter and everything."

Blaise chuckled. "Well, you didn't. At the very least, it's something to boast about at dinner parties. Not everyone's been trained by centaurs."

"Wonder what they'll be training us in?"

"I have no idea," the elder Slytherin replied. "Whatever it is, it can't be as hard as those spells you're making us learn."

"Hey, we're only halfway through third year material!"

"Yeah. You're trying to cram a year and a half into less than three months. Not all of us have a Dark encyclopedia in our heads, y'know."

Harry grinned back, joy over the centaurs' letter combining with amusement with Blaise. "It's probably some kind of astrology."

"I think that's third year material, too. Divination."

"Actually it's more like fifth year stuff. But don't worry, it can't be that hard."

* * *

"It's probably some kind of astrology," Blaise quoted unhappily. "Isn't that what you said?" He ducked to avoid a tree branch.

"Well, it seemed reasonable at the time," Harry panted. Behind them, Neville moaned; Harry glanced back and noted nervously that the round-faced boy was covered with sweat.

Hermione was doing somewhat better than the boys. "An exercise routine," she moaned. "I come to a magical school in the middle of the Scottish wilderness and meet up with a famously reclusive tribe of centaurs only to be put on an exercise routine."

"You should not complain," said Firenze, their palomino tutor. Unlike Harry and his friends, the centaur was walking, not running. He had a longer stride than the others. "Wizards depend too much on their wands; if yours was broken, how would you escape? You must be able to run quickly and with endurance, to fight with hands and feet and bow and arrow. You need every advantage possible."

Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to insult this. It's just- I expected something different."

"I am not surprised," Firenze replied serenely.

Neville tripped over a root. Harry stopped to help him up. The elder boy's face was red.

Blaise decided to cause a distraction. "Firenze, how do your people know Saysa? She's a bit… reclusive."

Firenze resumed walking. With a groan, the humans followed. Neville looked ready to cry.

"That is a long tale, Blaise Zabini, and not one we would normally tell to humans. However, you are the Smoking Mirror. You may know.

"When the wizards decided to go into hiding many centuries ago, my people sent embassies to the other races: the goblins, the mer, the dwarves, the werewolves and vampires and veela, all other sentient creatures- even the house-elves, though they refused to come.

"At first, it seemed that our negotiations would fall apart even before they began. The veela mocked the vampires; the mer threatened the dwarves; the werewolves were nearly banished. It seemed that war would erupt, not just between wizards and our separate races, but between peoples who were supposed to be allies.

"Then Saysa appeared, a dim figure out of local myth. A basilisk, she favored none, though many worried at first that she might help their enemies. With her as arbitrator, our peoples created the Treaty of the Wood. We would not fight the wizards- a hard decision, but the only one we could make without facing slaughter. Our numbers are fewer than yours, and even then, wizards could easily rouse the support of their Muggle kin.

"The more numerous and powerful races decided they would only fight under certain conditions. Most, though, decided to exist separately from wizards, to ignore your kind. My own ancestors did this."

"So," gasped Hermione, "Saysa is responsible for heading off a war?"

"Yes, and she asked no reward, save that when her Lightning Speaker came, our leaders would at least listen to him. At the time, it seemed nothing more than a passing delusion she would soon grow out of. Now, though, we know better."

Firenze frowned at the red-faced Neville, then stopped, apparently deciding they'd had enough for the day.

"Rest," the centaur ordered. "We will meet again in four days." He began to walk off.

"Firenze," called Harry. The palomino halted. "Those other races- they'll _all _be contacting me?"

"No. Most will speak to the archons, and to Saysa, before coming to you." He turned, eyes narrowing. "Many have not trusted humans your race for centuries. This is an honor, Harry Potter. Treat them with respect."

Harry was hunched over his knees with exhaustion, but he mustered the energy to glare back. "Of course I will."

Firenze just smiled.

* * *

If the _Daily Prophet's _first article on the kidnappings was ridiculous, its follow-ups were preposterous. "RAIDS FAIL TO FIND MISSING GIRLS." "WEREWOLF KILLED FOR RESISTING QUESTIOINING; DID THE AURORS KILL OUR ONLY LEAD?" "GRINGOTTS SEARCHED FOR MISSING PUREBLOODS." The papers were filled from front page to back with speculations, revelations, and paranoia. The media seemed to have accepted without question the assumption that Muggle-born fanatics were responsible. As such, an anit-Muggle hysteria began brewing.

Editorials were filled with explanations as to how Muggle-born rights laws had created this situation. Aurors were quoted slurring Mudbloods- not Muggle-borns, _Mudbloods_.

And it was not just the media that bought these lies. Even Hogwarts was affected. Arguments broke out; friends stopped speaking. Muggle-born students kept their eyes averted and their heads down. One individual, the same fifth-year who had accosted Neville on Platform Nine and Three-quarters, was caught writing the word "Mudblood" on Professor McGonagall's walls.

Had that student been in any House but Slytherin, he would have been expelled. As it were, the Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin had a spectacular shouting match on the fourth floor about how the little bigot should be punished.

Snape was the only teacher who seemed happy; all the others walked around angrily. McGonagall's temper, always terrifying, burned shorter every day. Flitwick took to interrupting his own lectures with unhappy tirades. Even gentle Pomona Sprout attacked her plants with uncharacteristic venom.

Harry learned a powerful lesson that week: whoever controlled information controlled the world. If he wanted to change the world, he would have to start with what people heard.

At his request, Hermione began spending much more time with Luna Lovegood. Many of their conversations involved Luna's father's printing press.

Worst of all, though, was the Greengrass' reaction. The day after Harry's first training session, Daphne received a long letter from her parents. When she read it, her face crumpled.

"What?" demanded Harry, concerned.

Daphne handed him the letter before purposefully walking off. Harry skimmed through her missive and hissed, then shoved it to Blaise. The black boy cursed.

"Break all ties? They want her to _break all ties _with us?"

The Greengrass heir did not speak to them for the remainder of the day. The next morning, though, she muttered something about playing both sides and went to talk to Hermione.

Harry thought back to the letter and grinned. If he remembered correctly (and he had an excellent memory) the elder Greengrasses had only ordered their daughter away from him and Blaise. Hermione and Neville, though, were safe game.

Around that time, an odd thought began forming in Harry's brain. It began with a chance comment from Neville: "Daphne's brilliant. Brilliant and cunning."

Brilliant and cunning… _brilliance and cunning, trust and high-soaring eagle, the Daughter of Frost. _

_Could _she be?

He asked Saysa immediately, of course, but the basilisk didn't know. She _couldn't _know, she'd never seen Daphne.

"So if you see her, you'll be able to tell?"

"**Yes. I recognized your other friends as soon as I saw them. I will know." **

That, of course, formed a whole new set of problems. Saysa wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Perhaps they could Disillusion her? No, someone might accidentally look into her eyes, and they had no idea what affects a Disillusionment Charm would have on a basilisk's deadly gaze.

Maybe, suggested Blaise only half-jokingly, they could knock Daphne out and "borrow" her for a while. Unfortunately, he'd said this when Hermione could hear and had received a tongue-lashing in return.

At their next meeting with Firenze, the students asked if he could try and divine the answer to their question. The centaur had simply nodded vaguely and muttered something about a "conjunction of Mars and Beteljeuz."

Next, they tried capturing Daphne's image. Neville filled half a camera with her pictures before running back to the Chamber, at which point Saysa told him that no, she couldn't tell from photographs. But, she consoled him, at least now she'd be able to recognize Daphne.

Though Daphne was the most likely candidate for Daughter of Frost, she wasn't the only one. Any girl in their year was a possibility.

Neville dismissed the Gryffindor girls right away. They weren't brilliant and cunning, they were shallow and giggly. Harry and Blaise automatically stopped considering Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, vowing to watch the other three Slytherin girls closely. Hermione didn't think any of her dorm mates was the Daughter of Frost, postulating that she was either Daphne (who fit the mold) or a Hufflepuff (which made a strange sort of sense: one from each of the four Houses).

But no matter how hard they thought, the four children realized that the only way to know for sure was to let Saysa see them- and she would probably have to do it in human form. After all, a tall, pale woman was rather less noticeable than a gigantic green serpent, and as a human Saysa could control her deadly gaze. As Sisith said, "**It would really stink if you found this girl right before she dropped dead of basilisk exposure." **

Yet Saysa could not become human until Beltane, half a year away. _They did not have that kind of time! _

The only solution Harry could see was desperate, dangerous, and quite possibly stupid- but they might just have to try it.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle did not pace.

Pacing, in his mind, was a sign of weakness. It showed restlessness, uncertainty; it lured his enemies in for the kill. No, when Lord Voldemort was perturbed, he sat at a desk, hands folded, and thought.

Which is what he was currently doing.

Lucius Malfoy's desk was gaudy and ornate, carved with flourishes and scrolls. It wasn't exactly Riddle's style, but, as he was trapped in the Death Eater's body until further notice, he didn't really have much choice.

He did not have the Heiress.

Draco, the Death Eater's son, had repeatedly assured his "father" that each and every pureblood girl from third year up was missing. Only first and second years remained at the castle.

Could the girl be that young? It had taken him, the most brilliant wizard in the school, five long years to track down the chamber. The thought that his rival might be even more brilliant (or, hopefully, just more lucky) gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Yet the alternative was even worse. Bad enough that one Heir of Slytherin was half-blood; what would his ancestor think of two contending mixed-blood heirs? The great wizard had to be turning over in his grave!

No, he had to focus. Tom forced his attention back to the problem at hand: how to find the girl.

Could he feasibly kidnap all the half-breeds? No, mongrels made up the majority of the Wizarding population. There would be too many of them to steal in one blow, and with each wave of kidnappings, security would become tighter and tighter. Powerful as he was, Riddle still had only the magical capabilities and resources as a sixteen-year-old student. His older self might be able to, but none of the Death Eaters he'd made Lucius contact had any idea where their lord was.

No, he couldn't take the mutts- yet. First he had to try the remaining purebloods.

Lucius' lips smiled coldly. The house-elf- Dobby or something inane like that- whimpered softly.

Shifting the diary closer to his stolen body, Tom Riddle began to write.

* * *

Dun dun duhh. Lots of cliffhangers here.

I _think _that the next chapter will contain the first part of the holidays. I say "the first part" because Harry and co. will be having a very busy Christmas break. All sorts of interesting things will go on in late December. Some of them will be related to this book's development, some will not.


	11. The Werewolf's Task

Whoa. I can't believe it's been almost two months since my last update. Sorry! I've just been really busy, but that's really not a good excuse. I promise the next chapter will be up a lot quicker.

* * *

_A bad messenger brings trouble, _

_but a faithful envoy, healing. -_Proverbs 13:17

Tyr Ulfhednar trudged tiredly home, cloak pulled close to protect against the snow. In early December, the weather was still not nasty enough to cut down production. He wasn't the only werewolf soaked to the bone.

So it was a pleasant surprise indeed when he opened his door and found that his drafty home was already warm.

Tyr's guard snapped up. Warily, he looked around, sniffed the air, listened. Someone was in his house, he knew it. But why?

"My apologies for breaking and entering, Master Ulfhednar," said a cordial voice. Tyr stiffened.

"Who are you?" he growled. "And how do you know my name?"

The speaker was a tall, dark-haired man of about thirty-five years. He was pale, with strong, handsome features and intent brown eyes.

"My name," he said calmly, as though he wasn't facing an angry werewolf alone, "is Pollux Ophion Riddle, and I have a proposition for you."

* * *

Dobby the house-elf was miserable.

What in the world had he done _wrong? _He was a _good _house-elf, he couldn't help his nasty bad thoughts about his masters (and it certainly wasn't his fault that all the thoughts were true).

And yet here he was, an unwilling accomplice in his master's kidnapping scheme. Bad enough when Lucius had plotted to release the monster of the Chamber; this was even more dangerous. The girls he'd stolen (girls that Dobby silently fed, watered, and guarded each day) could die at any second.

The house-elf pondered this as he slaved away on the grounds, trembling like a leaf in the December cold. His hands were chapped from the wind and dryness, and his oversized ears were slowly turning blue at the tips. His work, Dobby noticed morosely, was slowing; he would have to jump out of the window again.

Then the owl came.

Dobby had been watching the owl for several minutes, envying its freedom and assuming that it would bring a letter to his master or mistress. Amazingly, though, it didn't. The messenger bird, a beautiful white specimen, landed before the startled house-elf and held out its claw.

Dobby blinked. "Is… is this for Dobby?"

The owl hooted impatiently.

Confused, he took the letter from the owl's feet. Immediately the bird leapt up and flew away, a white speck in the wide blue sky. Dobby stared after it for a moment, then remembered his job, jumped, and went back to work.

He didn't discard the letter, though. The mysterious missive was tucked beneath his pillowcase for safekeeping.

Later, when the yard was shoveled, the prisoners were fed, and the mistress's meal cooked, Dobby finally managed to unfold it, still wondering if the lovely owl had made a mistake.

It hadn't. There, in plain black ink, was his name.

Dobby grinned. Most house-elves didn't know how to read or write, but he'd taught himself when young Master Draco was a toddling babe and the child's mother had read him little fairy tales. Dobby had often been in the room then, waiting on Mistress Cissy and memorizing the stories. Later, he'd borrowed the _Tales of Beetle the Bard _and taught himself letters.

The other house-elves had thought him crazy, but he'd always known it was worth it.

Dobby turned the letter over, pausing briefly to note the strange seal: black wax in a circle with a flame at its center.

_Dobby, _the letter began, _your master is possessed by the spirit of Lord Voldemort. _

The house-elf's heart nearly failed. His hands trembled; his breath came in short gasps. He almost dropped the letter then and there; Master Lucius was horrible, but a host for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? It was impossible.

_Your master is possessed by the spirit of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord is taking advantage of Malfoy's Death Eater status to attempt to return to power, and his first plot involves the kidnappings. Voldemort _(Dobby flinched) _plans to use the girls to begin a second war; space prevents me from giving the details. _

_However, the fact that it is _not _Lucius Malfoy devising these schemes is incredibly convenient. Dobby, _Lucius Malfoy _is no longer giving you commands. You are bound to Malfoy; you are not bound to the Dark Lord. _

_My companions and I are planning a rescue attempt. When we come, Dobby, you must be ready to help. _

_Apollo Peverell, Smoking Mirror _

The house-elf stared blankly at the letter, not knowing what to think. Whoever had sent it clearly knew about the kidnappings; it was just as clear that the author wasn't a member of the Ministry, or he would have brought in the Aurors.

Smoking Mirror… something about that tickled at his memory. Dobby thought of his mother, a sad, exhausted woman, singing him to sleep.

_Smoking Mirror, serpent's brother…. _

The little he did remember made absolutely no sense. But then, neither did the proposal that his nasty no-good master (bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!) was possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Yet it did make sense. The diary Lucius had been carrying around felt wrong, somehow, and he had been acting strangely.

Dobby glanced at the letter again. Lucius Malfoy _is no longer giving you commands. _And if it wasn't his master…

With a loud crack, the house-elf vanished. Just a moment later, he materialized in the summer home, panting and shaking. The house-elves weren't expressly forbidden to visit the prisoners, who couldn't escape anyways, but he should be doing other things, like beating himself over the head for thinking such terrible things.

Dobby stuck his head inside, hesitating. A few of the girls looked up, curious. House-elves usually didn't appear unless it was mealtime, and they had just been fed an hour ago. Dobby felt his ears quivering.

Lucius Malfoy had forbidden all three of his house-elves to speak with the prisoners. Of course, if it hadn't been Lucius, if it had been He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then Dobby was perfectly capable of disobeying.

He opened his mouth, wondering what would happen. Would his voice give out?

"Hello," he said, and knew that the letter was true.

* * *

"My name is Pollux Ophion Riddle," Harry said, "and I have a proposition for you."

Tyr was still glaring at him. Harry wondered nervously if the Fae's disguise also blocked his odd effect on werewolves; he hoped so. If not, his game would be up.

But Tyr showed no recognition. The Winter Queen's illusion held.

"What kind of proposition?" the werewolf demanded suspiciously. Keeping his eyes on Harry, Tyr walked further into the house.

Harry held up his hands, doing everything to appear unthreatening. The werewolf didn't seem convinced. Harry spoke.

"My proposal requires a bit of explanation. May I sit down?"

Tyr nodded. He probably thought that Harry/Pollux would be less of a threat sitting down, unable to move as quickly.

"I've long had reason to believe that werewolves are not monsters, that you are in actuality guardians." Tyr believed this too; the other werewolves would have kicked him out the moment he spoke that sentence. This werewolf, though, simply nodded.

"I searched for more clues, unable to find any until a chance comment put me on the right path." He remembered Gilderoy Lockhart's arrogant posturing and fought back a sneer. "The incantation of the Homorphous Charm, _wotan translycanis. _I recognized the second word as a derivation of the Latin _trans, _across; the Greek werewolf-king Lycaon; and the Latin _canis, _dog. The first word, though, I had never heard.

"After more research, I learned that Wotan was the Germanic name of Odin, a Norse battle-god strongly associated with wolves. Odin led the original berserkers, the bear-skins, and a caste of warriors who could supposedly transform themselves into wolves."

"The _ulfhednar," _Tyr commented.

Harry pulled up short, startled. "You know of this?"

"Of course," the other answered. "I've done research, myself." His face was grim. He sighed heavily. "That trail led me for almost two years before it finally went cold. It doesn't lead anywhere."

The Parseltongue shook his head. "The trail led me somewhere, Master Ulfhednar. The book mentioning other _ulfhednar _called them the 'hounds of the god.'"

Tyr was frowning. "I've never heard that term," he admitted.

"I had. In a book of obscure canine lore, I had read about someone who used the same term: a mad old Muggle named Thiess. It took a while to find more information about him, but what I found was worth the wait.

"Thiess was born in Livonia in 1612. At the age of eighty, he was hauled before the local court on charges of lycanthropy. Instead of denying the accusation, Thiess pled guilty- but only after telling the court a wild tale. Werewolves, he claimed, were not evil beasts.

"This is where Muggle and wizard history differ. Muggle records state that Thiess claimed his people fought witches and wizards over the contents of blighted fields. Wizarding records explain that Thiess believed werewolves could kill ghosts."

"Ghosts?" Tyr interrupted skeptically.

Harry nodded. "That's what Thiess called them: 'ghosts, wraiths, shadow-beings.' But his description fit that of a dementor."

"You said he was Muggle," Tyr pointed out. "Muggles can't see dementors."

"I know they can't…. unless they've been bitten."

The werewolf blinked. "You're right," he said, surprised. Then he frowned. "So, Riddle, you think Thiess was right?"

"The dementor's description was incredibly accurate. Also, when the Wizarding government tried to punish Thiess, the Livonian dementors refused to take him. That's where I lost his trail, I don't know what happened then."

"It's the best lead I've had in years," Tyr said simply. "And I'm assuming that, since you came to me with a 'proposal,' you want me to follow up on the old man."

Harry nodded happily. "The international Floo in Diagon Alley connects to Livonia," he explained. He waved his wand, smiling as a suitcase materialized. "I have supplies- a thousand Galleons, Language Lozenges, an inflatable tent… things like that."

Tyr smiled slightly, something he didn't do often. "I see you've come prepared."

The younger wizard nodded. "I assumed that you'd want to get started right away. I have a Portkey that-"

"No," the werewolf interrupted. Harry blinked, pulled up short. "Pardon?"

"I need my wand."

Harry _knew _he had forgotten something. "Where is it?"

"In the Aurors' home," Tyr answered. His eyes said something else: _How will you react to a challenge? _

"I need directions," Harry replied. _This is how, Tyr. Happy? _Yet somehow, he believed that the elder wizard was fully capable of retrieving his own wand.

Ten minutes later, Pollux Ophion Riddle, dressed in the robes of an Auror, handed Tyr Ulfhednar his wand. Apparently, werewolf-watching was reserved for trainees, disgraces, and pureblood fanatics.

Shouldn't there be better security for a "colony of dangerous, feral criminals"?

"If the guards are that pathetic," he asked dryly, "why is the village still populated?"

Tyr met his eyes, gray boring into brown. "Because we have nowhere else to go."

* * *

Tears of frustration leaked from Dobby's eyes.

"Dobby is sorry!" he cried. Five times he'd tried to transport a girl to freedom; five times he'd failed.

Some of the prisoners glared at him accusingly; others wilted. Perhaps it had been cruel to give them false hope, but he'd had to _try. _

"Dobby cannot rescue you," he said, though they'd probably figured that out by then. "But- but Dobby will try to help." He hesitated. It was said that the Dark Lord could read minds….

Then he saw the girls' pitiful faces and gave in. "Dobby-Dobby has a letter," he announced shyly.

"Yeah, right," snarled one. "What kind of an idiot writes a house-elf? It's not like you can even read!"

Dobby glared. "It says that someone is coming to rescue you," he told them.

Instantly the mood shifted (so much for house-elves not being able to read). Girls crowded round the startled house-elf, begging for more details. Who would free them? When would he/she/they come? How were they going to do it?

"Dobby does not know when or how!" the slave cried. "Dobby only knows that Apollo Peverell says he will rescue you!" He also knew that Lucius Malfoy was possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but somehow doubted that telling them would help. "Dobby wishes he had more knowing, but-"

And then Mistress Cissy called, and Dobby could answer no more.

* * *

Harry Portkeyed into the Chamber of Secrets with a wide grin.

"Someone's chipper," observed Blaise, who was working with Neville on the next few "Better than Binns" notes.

The younger wizard nodded. "Tyr's going to Livonia," he explained.

"Do you think he'll find anything?" asked Neville.

Harry nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if he comes back with a cure for lycanthropy's side effects."

"The Chalice of the Moon," Hermione mumbled.

All three boys blinked at her.

The young Ravenclaw looked up from _The Book of Hope and Despair. _"Saysa directed me to a prophecy that she thinks relates to werewolves…. Let me find it." She grabbed Helga's _The Prophecies_ and flipped rapidly through. "Here it is! _Seek the Chalice of the Moon/ to break the silver chains/ Reclaim the Cup of the Wolves/ Make nighttime clean again._ Saysa thinks that the Chalice is a metaphor for the potion that can cure them."

Blaise chuckled. "Should have told Tyr he was looking for a potion."

Neville was concerned. "But doesn't that mean that _we _should be out looking?"

"No," Hermione answered, cutting Harry off. "Harry's already done the seeking: he found the trail."

"Does that count?" wondered Neville.

"I hope so," the witch replied. She closed Hufflepuff's book and went back to Ravenclaw's.

"Haven't you read that already?" Harry wondered.

"Yeah, but she's only read it_ five times,_" Blaise answered in a mock-scandalized tone. "She has to reread it at least twenty more times before dinner."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped. "According to Hufflepuff, I have to 'solve the riddle'- but I don't even know what 'the riddle' is! It can't have anything to do with You-Know-Who, of course, because Harry is obviously better equipped to solve _that_ Riddle, so it must be about Dumbledore or about the prophecies themselves, so I need to study both of them as much as possible. But I've been pouring through all these books, and I haven't found _any _clues!"

"Then take a break," Harry advised. His friend looked scandalized. "No, seriously. Even Voldemort- quit flinching- took time off after every two hours of intense concentration. You need time to digest everything."

"Well, I suppose I could study Dumbledore inst-"

"Or you could help me break into Voldemort's lair."

All three human inhabitants of the Chamber froze. "What?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry repeated himself.

"Er- are you sure that's _safe?_" Blaise asked nervously.

"Of course it's safe," the Parselmouth replied. "I have Voldemort's knowledge, remember? Besides, Norberta will be there; she really wants to raze something of his to the ground."

"And that's supposed to make us feel safe?"

"Don't worry. I made her promise to wait until we were out."

"You're certain you can disable the magical defenses?" Hermione demanded.

"Of course," her friend promised.

Harry's three friends still looked uncertain.

"What if a Death Eater comes in?" worried Neville.

"They can't Apparate directly into the headquarters," Harry explained. "They'll have to show up a quarter mile away, and Norberta can take care of them."

The Prince of Flowers was not convinced. "But what if there's one already inside?"

"**Send me in first," **Sisith suggested.

"Not necessary," Harry assured him. "I know a spell, _hominum revelio, _that will warn us if anyone else is there."

Blaise chuckled ruefully. "We're just not gonna talk you out of this, are we?"

"Nope."

The black boy shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "If you're certain that nothing nasty will jump out of the shadows and kill us all, I'm game."

From the expressions on their faces, neither Neville nor Hermione appreciated their friend's attempt at humor.

* * *

Despite his irreverent attitude, Blaise Zabini couldn't help but shudder as he stood before Voldemort's hidey-hole.

The structure itself wasn't intimidating: it appeared to be nothing more than a dilapidated shack. The walls were grayish, age-worn wood, almost completely obscured by layers and layers of vines. The thatch roof was ready to fall apart; even from a distance he could smell its decay. If the hovel had a door, Blaise couldn't see it.

No, the shack itself was almost peaceful. If it hadn't belonged to the Dark Lord, Blaise wouldn't have given it a second glance. Knowing its owner, he couldn't take his eyes off it, not even to look at the murderous Norberta.

Neville was giving the greenery an odd look. "Harry… is that Devil's Snare?"

Harry, who was mumbling under his breath and wiggling his wand in a complex pattern, nodded. A wooden boardwalk materialized several from where they were standing. Harry stepped up on it.

Neville grasped the other boy's arm. "Harry, what about the Death Eaters?"

"Don't worry, Nev. I just want to get a bit closer first, that's all." Sure enough, the Parselmouth cast the detection spell a few steps later.

Nothing happened. Harry, unconcerned, trotted forward and began deactivating the wards.

"How are the notes going?" Hermione asked nervously. Her eyes remained fixed on Harry's form.

Blaise shrugged. "We finished the Herbology notes on Strangling Orchids, and I've gotten started on this month's Astronomy notes. Nothing very exciting."

Hermione moaned. "Oh, I'm so far behind on mine! Have there been any complaints yet?"

"Don't you always write up your notes, like, three chapters in advance? Relax, Hermione, you've got until the end of break."

The Ravenclaw grimaced. "I should probably get started on them right away…. I'm going to busy all through break. I have to stock the Isle's Potions lab, find some kind of printing press, work on the Truth Potion for Malfoy- oh, I wish the Aurors could free those girls without losing the Horcrux! We need to rescue them, and quickly."

Norberta hissed something about dragons, islands, and girls. Blaise thought hard. Something about… about dragons helping rescue the girls?

"You would ask them to do that?" gasped Hermione.

The dragoness shrugged. **"Why not?" **

Hermione's lips twitched. "Why, Norberta, I do believe you're going soft."

She snorted. **"Not bloody likely." **

"Done," Harry announced. **"Sisith, you'll want to close your eyes for this." **

"**We're going through the wall, aren't we," **the snake on his shoulders grumbled.

Harry walked through the wall with a grin on his face.

"Like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," muttered Neville.

Yeah, if Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was owned by an evil lunatic.

Blaise grimaced and stepped forward.

If the shack's exterior was… unimpressive, the inside was filled with Voldemort's dark grandeur. The walls were dark wood, extending almost thirty feet into the air and covered in menacing tapestries. A bone-white, evil-looking throne dominated the center of the room. There were no other chairs, just a long, dusty table taking up most of the southern wall. The shack had no internal lighting but relied solely on tiny, reluctant rays from the outside.

Neville sneezed, then sneezed again. "Dusty," he explained.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "It hasn't been used for over a decade." His eyes were distant. Abruptly, the boy shook himself, and his gaze focused. "Sorry. There are just a lot of memories here."

"Are you still having trouble with them?" Hermione asked gently.

"Not really. I'm good as long as there aren't any major triggers around, so I'd kind of like to get out of here soon."

"Is it safe to cast spells?" Blaise wondered. Harry nodded, and the black boy immediately cast _lumos. _His companions followed suit. Somehow, light made their location less threatening.

"This is just the meeting room," Harry explained, walking towards the walls. "Supplies are kept here." He shoved open a door.

The next room reminded Blaise of the stores on Knockturn Alley: dim, cramped, and filled to bursting with unpleasant-looking artifacts. There was an entire shelf of skulls and another of pickled or mummified body parts, some human, some from things he couldn't recognize. There were candles and a tattoo kit; twisted, ugly sculptures; manacles and rusted chains.

"Where are the books?" wondered Hermione.

"Beneath us… should we do wands or books first?"

"Books, of course."

Harry grinned. "Why did I even ask? The staircase is… here." The Parselmouth tapped his wand on the grimy floor; a section vanished, revealing a damp, mildew-covered staircase.

"Oh, gross," moaned Blaise, covering his nose. "Harry, that _reeks!" _

The other Slytherin seemed just as surprised. "I didn't expect the slime," he admitted, "but I suppose a decade of disuse will do that."

"The castle is in much better condition," Hermione agreed.

Wands at the ready, the four companions descended.

The library was marginally more impressive than the supply room. It was square-shaped but with slightly rounded corners, and a few torch holders hung on the wall. Each of the nine shelves was filled with dusty, ancient-looking books.

Hermione immediately gravitated towards the nearest shelf and began observing the titles. _"De Mortis… A Guide to Inferi… Potions to Enhance Warlocks… Deception and Disguise… The Mudblood Taint…." _Her lips curled. "I think we should just Portkey these to Founder's Isle, then levitate them into the castle itself. Then we can catalogue the books, get rid of the ones we don't want," (her eyes flickered to _The Mudblood Taint_) "and decide what else we want."

"Good plan, Hermione," Harry said. He was pale and sweating slightly, obviously fighting the onslaught of memory. Blaise grimaced, thumped his back reassuringly.

Fifteen minutes later, the nine shelves (minus a few books Harry wanted to let Norberta burn) had taken their place as the start of the isle's library.

It was time for the wands.

* * *

Harry grit his teeth, trying desperately to remain calm.

Voldemort's supply room made him sick, and not just because of the severed appendages. He knew _exactly _what everything was used for.

Very few of the uses were pleasant.

He would not take any of the Dark objects; these would meet Norberta's fires. If not for the bottom shelf with its wand-filled cubbies, he would be far, far away.

Harry's friends started in the "victims" pile, not wanting to touch the Death Eaters' wands. Hermione and Blaise both found their secondary wands there; Neville, ironically, moved on to the Death Eaters' wands. Fortunately, he didn't have to linger there long. The second dark wand had belonged to Regulus Black, and it gladly accepted a new master.

While his friends searched, Harry worked on dismantling the room's enchantments. He didn't want to waste any of the wands, but they were all hexed to return if no human had held them for two days or if their masters called. Fortunately, that task was easy, as the spell itself was nothing more than a clever variation of the Summoning Charm.

"Aren't you going to pick a wand, Harry?" asked Hermione, gathering a small bundle of the leftover wands.

"I already have," he answered softly. "I'll show you outside."

Norberta was waiting impatiently. **"Done yet?" **she growled. Harry nodded, and the satisfied dragoness turned on the shack.

Flames exploded from Norberta's mouth, landing on the hut's gray wooden walls. Though the planks had been damp and almost slimy, the dragon-fire couldn't be stopped.

Harry held out his second wand, trying to ignore how _familiar _it felt in his hand. Hermione frowned at it. "Yew wood?" she guessed.

The Slytherin nodded. "Thirteen and one-half inches, yew with a core of phoenix. Powerful, especially good for defensive and offensive magics." It was, word for word, what Ollivanders had said to the young Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry looked up from the Dark Lord's wand and watched the fire.

* * *

I don't own Language Lozenges, but I saw the idea for them in "Partially Kissed Hero" by Prefect Lionheart. Basically, they give you the ability to speak a new language (duh). In my little world, the effects are only temporary and you need three or four each month to maintain the tongue.

_Tetsurga: I had once guessed far back that the Werewolves once served as protectors, maybe it was against the Dementors?_


	12. Visions

_In all toil there is profit, _

_But mere talk leads only to poverty. _

_-_Proverbs 14:23

Remarkably, the train ride home was uneventful.

Sure, there was a small platoon of Aurors wandering through the compartments. Sure, people kept discussing whether or not the escaped werewolf Tyr Ulfhednar was responsible for the kidnappings. And Harry was certainly quieter than normal, but his friends chalked that up to having Voldemort's wand.

They spent the ride pretending to be normal: playing games of Exploding Snap and Gobstones and even a round of wizard's chess, abusing Binns and Lockhart wondering if Neville had acquired frostbite from Firenze's merciless exercise routine. They had already discussed their plans and assignments, and though Hermione didn't seem happy about it, they had a tacit agreement not to speak of anything prophecy-related.

"I'm going to say good-bye to Daphne," Hermione suddenly announced.

The tension in the room rose. Despite hours of speculation, no one had any idea whether or not Daphne really was the Daughter of Frost.

"I'll come with," Neville said. "Just- hang on- lemme get her present."

While Neville rummaged through his bags, Blaise broke the unspoken treaty. "D'you think she is?"

"I dunno," Harry replied, trying not to think of his plan. Saysa thought it was a good idea, but he himself wasn't so sure.

"It's either Daphne or a Hufflepuff," Hermione declared, "and I don't think any of the Hufflepuffs in our year fit her profile."

"Found it!" exclaimed Neville, effectively putting an end to their conversation. Grinning happily, he led Hermione through the train.

Two minutes later, Daphne herself, followed by two gigantic Aurors, walked into their compartment.

Harry and Blaise froze, grateful that Sisith was staying in the Chamber. What would Daphne have thought of Harry's Parselmouth abilities?

The Greengrass heir herself looked uncharacteristically awkward. "Where are Neville and Hermione?" she asked stiffly.

"They went looking for you," Blaise answered.

Daphne nodded slowly. "They would have…" She hesitated. "If I do not find them… tell them that I am sorry to have missed them." Her agate eyes bored into the boys. _I'm sorry, but I can't disobey my parents. _

One of her Auror guards shifted.

Instantly the Slytherin's face grew blank. "Good-bye," she said simply, "and happy holidays."

"You, too," whispered Harry.

* * *

Remus couldn't go to the station to meet him- werewolf prejudice was stronger than ever after Tyr's disappearance- but Harry finally convinced one of the Aurors guards to Apparate him home. By the time that the werewolf's shift ended, Harry had prepared a simple meal of spaghetti and ground beef. Remus smiled gratefully, and the two settled down for a much-needed repast.

At first, their conversation was normal: compliments on the meal, speculation about Tyr's disappearance (Harry made sure _that _segment was over quickly), more speculation about the kidnappings (Remus hadn't fallen for the Muggle-born story either), and a long discussion of Harry's term. It reminded the boy heavily of his earlier conversation with Neville, Hermione, and Blaise: both speakers delicately sidestepped the real issue.

Finally, after the dishes were done, dried, and put away, Remus brought it up. "The Animagus Potion is done, Harry, and it looks exactly the same as when your father brewed it." He seemed mildly surprised by his success; Moony tended to underestimate himself.

Harry nodded. "When?"

His godfather deliberately misunderstood. "I took it out of the cauldron in late November, a little after the kidnappings." Then he grimaced. "You should probably take it as soon as possible. Your effect on werewolves- on _me, _at least- hasn't lessened."

The Parselmouth thought of Dobby. What was it he'd said? _Werewolves can sniff out the truth, _or something like that, at least.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus continued. "You're too young for this, but…." He trailed off miserably.

"Tonight, then?" his godson asked, trying to sound nonchalant. After all, Voldemort knew exactly what happened when Animagi messed up their transformations.

It was not pretty.

The elder looked miserable. "The full moon is on the twenty-first- just two nights from now- and it's on a solstice, making it especially potent. That is probably a good idea."

"Okay," Harry muttered. "What do I do?"

For a moment, pride glowed in Remus's eyes. "You know, I believe James said the same thing, but he was asking Sirius and I was trying to talk them out of it." He smiled reminiscently. "Now, though, I'm glad I couldn't.

"The process itself is surprisingly straightforward. You simply drink half of the potion- I've already measured it out for you- and recite the spell. A few minutes later, depending on your level of power, you'll fall into a trance where your animal form will be revealed to you. James, Sirius and Peter all claimed that their forms were easy to find, but they all described the vision itself as 'terrifying.'" The werewolf's eyes clouded over. "I wish I didn't have to do this to you, Harry."

"It's not your fault," the boy assured him softly. "How did my father recognize his form?"

"I always wondered that myself," confessed Remus. "James said that he 'just knew.' He didn't know how he knew, but he recognized the stag instinctively. None of them would say much more than that, though- the process is considered intensely personal."

"What do I do when it shows up?" Harry wondered.

"You have to catch it."

Harry grimaced slightly. His form was probably some kind of snake, and, having grown up with serpent hatchlings, he knew that snakes were very hard to capture. "That's it?"

Remus's face was tired; the gray in his hair glowed in the dim light. "Indeed. But you shouldn't grow nonchalant, Harry, because this is an immensely powerful piece of magic. Adult wizards flinch away from it."

"I know that," his godson replied softly. "Let's just get the potion."

His wordless godfather led him to his room. Hiding under Harry's bed were two wine bottles. "It was the only storage I had," Remus explained.

Harry was just looking at the ugly color, wondering how it would taste. "Bottoms up then, I suppose," he mumbled, uncorking the first bottle. "And, Moony? Thanks."

Remus fought back tears- and the urge to knock the bottle out of Harry's hands. But the boy, almost sensing his godfather's intentions, gulped down the potion as quickly as he could. In less than a minute, his glass was empty.

Now it was time for the spell. Harry looked down at the Latin phrases in the Potions book, pronouncing each word fiercely and carefully.

When the last word passed his lips, Harry Potter collapsed.

* * *

He hung from a tree, panting heavily, feeling the noose dig into his throat. His vision was blurred from lack of oxygen, but he could still see that the world was dark and depressing: vague, half-formed shapes blurred by the darkness of twilight.

Agonized, Harry pawed at his neck. Reason told him that death here wasn't real; instinct disagreed. Terrified, he groped for the knot.

But the noose didn't have a knot. Instead, it was made of rope that split cleanly in two. Harry couldn't untie it, couldn't escape.

His hands reached further up, grasping the rope. Desperate, knowing he had only one chance, Harry yanked.

The centaurs hadn't put as much emphasis on arms as on legs, but Harry's arms had still grown stronger under their exercise routine. Inch by inch, the Parselmouth pulled himself up, gulping in breaths of fresh, wonderful air as the pressure on his throat slowly lightened.

"Thank you, Firenze," the young man whispered.

Maneuvering his head out of the noose was rather more difficult, but after a few exhausting minutes Harry managed it. He dropped from the tree, looked around for any sign of life.

He saw only signs of death.

Harry's was not the only noose: the grove of elders was filled with hanged corpses. Some were relatively recent, their faces bloated and rotting, but other nooses had rotted through, leaving their skeletal contents to litter the ground. Headstones dotted the surrounding trees.

If his father's experience had been anything like this, Harry understood why he'd been so reluctant to talk about it.

But where was his Animagus form?

Something moved in the trees. Harry spun around, almost discerned the dark shape before another noise spooked him into looking away. An owl hooted, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Quit it," he ordered himself. "It can't hurt you. Just catch it."

So far, there were three possibilities: shape number one, shape number two, and the owl, yet none of them felt right. Harry looked hopefully for serpents on the ground. None appeared.

"But it's not a snake, either," he mumbled, knowing it to be true.

There was a flash of white in the trees, and Harry's equilibrium shattered. He crouched, ready to fight, but the silhouette retreated into the distance.

That hadn't been his second shape either.

"This is ridiculous," Harry complained.

The animal obviously wasn't in the elder grove, for which Harry was secretly grateful. The trees felt wrong to him, somehow.

The boy's eyes had by then adjusted to the light, so he took another look around. All three shapes (and the owl) had disappeared, but now that he could see, he noticed that a few of the trees were yews. The two tree species were the only living things around.

Harry looked at the sky. With a shock, he realized that the skies weren't twilit. It was dawn. The stars were fading in the sun's budding light. It didn't eliminate the landscape's creepiness, but it still comforted Harry.

A dark shape soared towards the horizon.

His form!

A wide grin split Harry's face. He ran after the silhouette, again grateful for Firenze's "torture."

Fortunately, the bird was in no hurry. It kept circling back, as though it was waiting for Harry. Soon, boy and bird stood in a small clearing, surrounded by elders, a few yews, and, on the ground, several holly bushes. The bushes, Harry noticed, were much healthier than the trees, but they tended to grow around the yews.

The bird was waiting for him in the center of the clearing, perched upon a single dead tree. It was a raven, dark and glossy, highlighted with green and blue and purple and gold in the sun's light. Its dark beady eyes, black as midnight, bored into Harry's.

Slowly, almost reverently, Harry approached his animal form. The bird shifted warily but didn't fly away, and its eyes never left the Parselmouth's.

Then, when Harry was no more than five feet away, it leapt into the air.

"No!" the wizard yelled, jumping vainly towards the creature. It gave him a mildly contemptuous look and cawed disdainfully. Harry cursed. "Get _back _here!"

Something moved in the forest. Harry spun around, caught a glimpse of sharp teeth and glowing eyes before it melted into the shadows.

He was being hunted.

Suddenly, the raven's flight changed from annoying to potentially deadly. What would happen if the predator, or one of the other two he'd seen earlier, caught and killed him? Harry didn't want to find out.

But he might have to.

The raven had landed again; it peered at Harry suspiciously. This time, the boy tried a more cautious approach, walking towards it slowly. It flew away.

Harry's next attempt was more stealthy, but the bird sensed his efforts and easily thwarted them. The boy gave it a nasty look.

Time to think. He should never have rushed in blindly; he should have planned to begin with, but it was too late now. He had no magic, so spells were out the running. Perhaps he could injure the bird with a stone? No. If he missed, the bird would never let him approach again.

That left bribery. Think, Harry, think. What do birds want?

The answer was simple: to fly, to mate, to eat and sleep.

The bird could already fly, so Harry dismissed that. There weren't any female ravens around either, so reproduction wasn't an option. He couldn't do anything about its sleep cycle, so that left food.

Oh, _ew._ Did that mean he had to go back and get one of the corpses?

Harry looked at the bird again, noting that it appeared well-fed and rested. It probably wouldn't eat anyways, he decided, which left flight and mating.

If only his Nimbus were there! Harry thought of how free he felt in the skies, how capable and light. Then he smiled.

Harry began to approach his animal form.

"I'm not going to take your freedom," he promised. "You'll still be able to fly. I won't bind your wings, raven. I'll just grow a pair of my own."

The raven looked at him with its beady eyes, considering. Harry stopped, stayed still. Then the bird jumped again into flight.

This time, it landed on Harry's shoulder.

For a second, boy and bird looked into each other's eyes, acknowledging a treaty. Then the raven sank into Harry's skin, and he awoke.

* * *

Remus couldn't stop pacing.

Harry had only been out for a few minutes, but it felt like hours had passed. Many times, he'd paused to check that the boy was still breathing. He was, but the breath was very shallow.

The werewolf cursed himself. With every second that went by, he thought of more and more objections. What if Harry's animal was too quick to catch? James had spent hours in his coma-like state as he fruitlessly chased down the stag. What if his animal attacked him? Sirius had come out with bites on his hands and arms. What if he was a prey animal? Remus had never told anyone, but wolves ate rodents in the wild, and sometimes Wormtail had smelled pretty appetizing….

Okay, so it wasn't exactly likely that Harry would be another rat. That still left the first two problems.

If only there was a way to tell! Harry's breathing hadn't changed, and Remus had already listened to his heart's strong, steady beat. He didn't look any different, and he wasn't feverish or shivering.

Then an unfamiliar odor filled the air.

Remus froze, sniffed. It smelled like… bird?

Then Harry sat up, grinning triumphantly.

Remus stopped smelling, turned expectantly to his godson. "What are you?"

"Guess!" the boy laughed.

The werewolf thought about the odd scent, about how it had appeared right before Harry's awakening. "A bird?"

The new Animagus looked surprised. "Yeah. A raven, to be exact."

His godfather barked a laugh. "I should have known. Ravens," he explained, "are considered helpers of wolves. It's said they lead natural wolves to their prey."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I didn't know that, but it makes sense. There's this one Norse god, Odin, who had two wolves and two ravens."

"Geri and Freki- 'ravenous' and 'greedy.' Hugin and Munin- 'thought' and 'memory.'" He smiled slightly at Harry's surprise. "One of Tyr's pet projects was Norse mythology, especially Odin. He believed that the god and his equivalents were once served by a caste of lycanthropic warrior-priests."

"Oh," mumbled Harry, looking embarrassed. "So, er, what next?"

Remus smiled. "James, Sirius, and Peter would practice partial transformations for an hour or so a day until they had transformed their entire bodies. It took Peter a month longer than your father to completely master the change."

The boy nodded, processing the information. "Right," he mumbled, then glanced towards the second half of the potion.

"And what are you going to do with that, Harry?" asked Remus sweetly.

Harry looked embarrassed. "I promised Blaise that I'd help him become Animagus," he explained.

His godfather highly doubted that that was all there was too it. He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Only Blaise?"

This time the boy looked startled. "You forget, Harry," Remus commented dryly, "that I grew up with your father. Do you seriously intend to put your closest friends through a traumatic and possibly deadly magical transformation?"

The boy flinched. Good. He knew what he was doing was wrong. That would make it easier. "I won't let you do that," he said simply.

It seemed that Harry had no idea how to deal with that. He blinked several times, then chuckled. "Y'know, that's probably the first time an adult ordered me not to do something because he actually cared."

The werewolf grimaced. Vernon and Petunia Dursley had much to answer for.

Later on, after the two had finished their conversation about the Dursleys and how they had psychologically affected their two wards, Remus would remember that their discussion had begun quite differently. He would remember that he still had to dispose of the Animagus Potion.

Harry watched his godfather destroy the counterfeit concoction with a guilty heart.

* * *

Mark Potter smiled smugly at his reflection. He looked _good. _

The Boy-Who-Lived was looking forward to the evening for two reasons. First, he wanted to meet more of the Wizarding world. Second, he needed to announce the publication of his autobiography, and what better place than at a Christmas party?

"All ready?" called Gilderoy's voice.

"Just a sec!" Mark shouted back, hurriedly making a few last-minute adjustments to his red and gold dress robes. Grinning, he trotted out of the room.

Lockhart, resplendent in violet robes (at least in his own mind; Mark had a very different opinion) nodded approvingly. "Yes, very professional."

The two walked down the hallway, Lockhart going into a spiel on how Mark should behave at this "very important publicity event." The Gryffindor listened with only half an ear. Last Christmas, he hadn't even known this annual party existed. He'd woken up in his dorms and had been stunned at how many presents he'd gotten; then he'd eaten almost a pound of sugary treats and gone to the hospital wing. Harry had come to visit then, but after that, he'd started avoiding Mark and his friends. The next time his little brother had ended up in the hospital wing, Harry hadn't visited at all.

The boy's face settled into a grimace. Stupid Harry, so jealous and bitter. And he didn't even admit to not visiting! No, despite what Madame Pomfrey (who had no reason to lie) said, he'd visited every single day. And he wasn't avoiding Mark in the previous four months; he just didn't like Mark's friends. And of course it was all Dumbledore's fault, not Harry's.

No, Harry Potter could do no wrong, but until he gave Mark a wholehearted and unconditional apology for _everything, _neither brother would speak to the other. He knew all that, of course, and Dumbledore thought it was a good theory, but why was his brother taking so long?

Could it be that Harry didn't want to be reconciled?

Mark wasn't a deep thinker, though, so he managed to distract himself with the castle's festive cheer. Even the Floo power, with its bright green glow, seemed Christmas-y.

The party passed in a blur. There was the Christmas play (some Wizarding fairytale he'd never heard before, something about a rabbit and a stump), a short performance by Hogwarts' choir (he thought that Harry's black friend was in that), delicious food (Ron would be so jealous). The only thing he remembered well was what happened after dinner: speeches.

Gilderoy had explained that anyone and everyone who had an important announcement could give it to the world at large during the Christmas festival. There was an address by the Minister; a few important births, deaths, and engagements; Dumbledore's speech on how things were at Hogwarts; a couple politicians lamenting the missing girls. Finally it was Mark's turn. Pretending it was just a class presentation, he stood up and gave a short announcement.

"Throughout the past school year, I've been working on an autobiography." Whispers broke out among the partygoers. "The first edition, covering my first twelve years, will be available sometime in April. Thank you." Feeling stupid, he sat down.

Gilderoy nodded approvingly. "Excellent," he whispered, before standing to deliver a long and flowery message about his own upcoming book.

Mark glared. _So much for 'the shorter the better,'_ he thought angrily. When Lockhart sat down, the boy wasted no time in confronting him. "How come yours gets to be long?"

Gilderoy flashed him a dazzling smile. "You're new to the publishing scene," he explained indulgently. "It just wouldn't be appropriate. I, however, have years of experience, so longer speeches are expected of me. Don't worry, my boy; it will get better in time."

His protégé thought for a moment, then smiled and turned back to the party. Even without Harry, even though it was only the twentieth, it was already the best Christmas he'd ever had.

* * *

Happy Halloween! Again, sorry it's been so long. Tetsurga and I have both been pretty busy. The good thing is, I've actually written ahead some, so the next chapter SHOULD be up soon. I hope.

I chose the raven because of their rich symbolism: death, the Otherworld, messages, darkness, wolves, power, tricksters, etc. There's even a subspecies, the chough, associated with King Arthur, so you get leadership/royalty symbolism too! Ravens are just perfect for my Harry; they even look like him.

Can anyone guess what the other things on his vision quest were? It should be somewhat obvious.

I still can't get the stupid page breaks right!

On an unrelated note, Mark stinks. End of story.

-Antares


	13. On the Darkest Night of the Year

_The __blood__thirsty hate a person of integrity and seek to kill the upright._

-Proverbs 29:10

* * *

The twentieth of December, though not eventful in itself, was certainly busy.

Hermione spent her day in Diagon Alley, hunting down books she wanted in the Isle's library. Neville, equipped with a list from Harry, searched for different Potions ingredients. Blaise went to a travel store for a plethora of items: expandable wardrobes, bags, and trunks; three Sneakoscopes (apparently, they were only there to warn of pickpockets in foreign countries); Language Lozenges in Latin, Greek, and several other tongues; and a half-dozen broomsticks for emergencies. Harry, supposedly Christmas shopping (and he was getting that done too) went into Knockturn Alley for some of the more specialized items.

Soon, Founders' Castle was filled with candles that would never go out and would give light only to allies; with Foe-glasses and Dark Detectors; with stashes of healing potions. New runestones provided a protective barrier around the fortress, and Harry even set up a few unpleasant booby traps.

All in all, it was a good day's work, and the four friends returned home feeling happy and satisfied.

Despite his long day, though, Harry couldn't sleep. The next day was both solstice and full moon. Normally, Saysa couldn't transform at the height of winter, but the moon's power would allow her to, though only for a few minutes and at a high cost to herself.

Harry had found that out quite by accident when he'd been complaining about Saysa's inability to scout out Daphne on the winter solstice. Saysa had replied that since the winter moon wouldn't be full, she couldn't really help not transforming. Harry had been startled by the new facet of her abilities, which Saysa apparently thought he knew all about.

"The moon is the instrument of change," she had attempted to explain. "Look at how it affects your godfather."

A rather cursory glance at the Astronomy Tower's lunar charts had revealed that the moon was, indeed, full on December 21, which had led to Harry's risky plan. Saysa couldn't remain human long enough to see Daphne and escape, but she could still do other "human things."

Like take the Animagus Potion.

Harry had regretted voicing his plan the instant it escaped his mouth. Saysa wanted to try it, despite not knowing whether it would work or kill her. Harry had been fighting his plan ever since letting it slip.

Saysa was undeterred.

Which was why the two were arguing under the full moon's light.

"**I'm not going to die,"** Saysa explained patiently. **"The prophecies clearly state that I have more to do before moving on." **

"**I know that," **the Parselmouth replied, **"but didn't you tell me that the future's not always set in stone? You said it was my **_**choices **_**that made me the Lightning Speaker, not some obscure destiny. What if it's **_**your **_**choices that make you able to carry out your other tasks? What if the wrong choice destroys those prophecies?" **

"**And what if the wrong choice, the choice which negates the prophecies, is my **_**not **_**ingesting the potion?" **

"**But what if it is!" **

"**Harry, you know the spells of purging. If I grow ill, you can force the potion from my body." **

The boy shook his head. **"It's hard to tell with the Animagus Potion. Remus said I didn't move at all during my hunt." **

"**Yet he still let you take it." **

"**That's different, Saysa. I'm fully human, or at least I was until I got the raven. You're a basilisk. We don't know how it might affect you." **

Saysa sighed. Somehow, his concern was both touching and annoying. **"Let us compromise. I shall drink the potion-"** Harry began to protest- **"but if I have not awakened within thirty minutes, you will purge it from my body. If this works, I shall have gained a more useful form than this. If not, we have lost nothing." **

"**Except you," **her friend muttered.

"**Hence the time limit. Harry, I must do this. I feel it pulling at my destiny." **

Boy and serpent remained silent. Harry bit his lip, plainly considering. Then he grimaced. **"Ten minutes." **

"**Yours lasted almost an hour. No, I need at least twenty-five minutes." **

"**You can't hold your form that long. I'm waking you up after fifteen, latest." **

Saysa hissed with agitation. Yes, his concern could be quite, quite annoying. **"Twenty, then." **

Harry considered. **"All right, twenty. But not a second more!" **

As Saysa's shape blurred, the basilisk reflected on how much Harry sounded like Salazar. The other Parselmouth had hated putting her in danger, too.

The young wizard watched unhappily as Saysa's serpent shape fell away, as arms and legs sprouted, as her head changed shape and grew hair, as her scales mutated into a green tunic and pants. He couldn't help but reflect on how blatantly _in_human she was: no human had those slightly pointed teeth or those gorgeous, deadly golden eyes. How could a human potion work on something that wasn't?

He opened his mouth to protest one final time, but Saysa deftly reached out, grabbed the vial of potion, and drank. Her inhuman eyes fluttered shut.

Harry stared at the basilisk's prone form and prayed that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Saysa was a hatchling again, barely larger than Sisith, young enough that she could look her friends in the eye. Part of her knew it was only a memory, a dream, but the larger part of her perceived only reality.

The five of them were sitting (or coiled) in Rowena's study, saluting the end of the school year. Soon, all the students would be gone, and it would be just Saysa and her beloved friends.

"To the Houses!" the burly, red-bearded man cried, thrusting a mug into the air.

Salazar snorted. "Yes, yes, to the Houses. How many times have we toasted them?"

"Who cares?" laughed Godric.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "You just want an excuse to get drunk."

Helga nodded in agreement. "It's not healthy, Godric," she reprimanded him maternally. "And it's a bad example for the child."

"The child" lifted her head. **"Why is Godric drinking a bad example for me?" **she asked curiously. Young as she was, Saysa didn't really understand the difference between alcohol and water.

Smirking wickedly, Salazar translated, and was rewarded as Godric spat out a mouthful of ale and began stuttering. "Ah- you see- Salazar, you explain."

"I'm not the tipsy one."

"He does have a point," agreed Helga.

Godric looked at Rowena helplessly. The tall, elegant woman chuckled. "You realize you deserve this, don't you?"

Gryffindor glared.

"All right, I'll save you," the witch replied. "Saysa, I've been doing research, and I believe there is a way for you to speak directly with all of us."

The young basilisk's eyes grew wide. **"You mean Salazar won't have to repeat everything I say?" **

"**That would be nice, now, wouldn't it," **Slytherin muttered. "How?" he asked Rowena.

"Today is the summer solstice," she explained, "the height of Fae magic."

"You can't be serious!" cried Godric, dropping his tankard. "Meddling with the Sidhe? That's a good way to get us all killed!"

"He has a point," agreed Helga, gnawing at her lip. "I could never forgive myself if something happened to Saysa."

Rowena frowned at them. "Contrary to what you apparently believe, I'm _not _stupid enough to meddle directly with the Fae. Before I was _interrupted, _I was going to explain that all natural magic is extremely powerful today, including serpent magic."

"So we can all become Parselmouths?" asked Godric hopefully.

"I wish," the witch replied, "but no. We are human; our powers are different. No, this change must originate with Saysa, who is still tied to the natural world.

"I believe that, on certain days of the year, magically endowed creatures possess the capacity to become human."

For a second, all was silence. Then, "Preposterous!" Salazar exclaimed. "It's a basic law of Transfiguration: no animal, magical or not, may gain humanity. You of all people should know that!"

"That's a law of human magic," Ravenclaw retorted. "Saysa's is different. She is governed by different laws."

"Different laws or not, it's still impossible," Salazar maintained.

"**I want to try it!" **Saysa interrupted. She had often watched the Founders teach dozens of small human children, and it had been so fun! And when she was bigger, her eyes would hurt people, and she didn't want to accidently hurt anybody. Not to mention that while she understood people, they never understood her (unless Salazar was nearby to translate). Salazar was trying to teach Rowena Parseltongue, but that would take a long long time and Saysa didn't want to wait. Like all children, the hatchling was somewhat impatient.

"There's no harm in trying," Helga pointed out. "I'm not saying it would work, but there's certainly no harm in letting her try."

Salazar muttered something about a waste of time but didn't object.

Saysa slithered down until she was directly in front of Rowena. **"How?" **she asked.

Ravenclaw needed no translation. "Imagination, of course," she answered softly, "the root of all magic. Just picture yourself becoming a human child."

Saysa imagined, and as she did, her adult self lifted up, floated out of her hatchling's body. For a moment she saw the scene from above: scowling Salazar, encouraging Rowena, curious Helga and Godric, and most of all the furiously focused little serpent. Then she was in the little snake's transforming body, but also in her own fully grown form, feeling the change leap from one to the other. Then the vision was gone, back in the depths of her mind, and she was blinking into Harry's relieved face.

"Are you all right?" the boy asked.

She nodded.

Harry smiled. "Did it work?" he wondered.

Saysa frowned, suddenly exhausted. "I… don't know."

* * *

Because it was the full moon, Harry couldn't go back home. While he highly doubted any werewolf would attack him, Remus insisted it was better to be safe than sorry. His godson hadn't protested overmuch, anticipating his conversation with Saysa (if not its results. He'd actually imagined talking her out of it.).

So the young wizard Portkeyed back to the Chamber, where he'd left his overnight bag, and Apparated to Hermione's home in Somerset.

The witch was waiting for him, anxiously peering out into the night. She jumped when he materialized. "Harry! Where were you?"

The Parselmouth grimaced ruefully. He was not about to tell Hermione about what he and Saysa had been doing- unless, of course, it worked. It _would_ be rather difficult to find another explanation for the basilisk's humanity. "Talking with Saysa," he half-lied.

Hermione frowned; she knew him too well. "About what?" the girl asked suspiciously.

Time for a distraction. "About the Animagus Potion," he answered, which was technically still the truth.

As Harry had hoped, Hermione instantly forgot about his lateness. "How has that been? When we talked yesterday, you obviously hadn't had time to practice, but have you tried transforming today? I read all about Animagi this summer when you and Remus were brewing the potion, and if I remember correctly, it might take a day or two before you can accomplish anything, but you're better with magic than most adult wizards, so I've no doubt you could."

Harry blinked, slightly overwhelmed by his friend's enthusiasm. "Er- I made a feather around lunch."

The witch's eyes went wide. "Already? An entire feather?"

"**An ugly, misshapen thing it was, too," **Sisith drawled. **"Can we get out of the cold now?" **

Hermione reddened. "Of course. I'm sorry, Harry, Sisith." She turned around. "Mum! Dad! Harry's here!"

The witch's parents were everything Harry had wished Petunia and Vernon were: warm, welcoming, and rather inclined to let their daughter mind her own business. Harry had been a bit worried about Sisith's reception, but the elder Grangers didn't bat an eyelash. As Mr. Granger said, "After a mage pops out of your fireplace, makes your cushions float around the room, and announces your daughter is a witch, not much surprises you."

"Besides," Mrs. Granger laughed, "Hermione's told us all about your other friends. We're just glad you didn't bring the dragon!"

Harry had been a little bit nervous about that, but when he finally got Hermione alone, she had an explanation. "Of course they know about Norberta and Saysa and you being a Parselmouth. They don't know about the prophecies, though, or that you're really the Boy-Who-Lived." She blushed. "Truth be told, I was somewhat hysterical when I told them about your bigger friends, though that was last spring break and I was starting to get used to them. No, Harry," she added, heading off his question, "I didn't put anything about them in writing."

Still, Harry made a mental note to teach them Occlumency. Better safe than sorry.

But that could wait. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy himself before putting the next day's plans into action.

* * *

Normally, Daphne Greengrass was the perfect daughter: obedient, intelligent, and loyal to her family and her family alone. Everyone else was an enemy, a mistrusted ally, or a fool not worth bothering about. Her parents were all-knowing, incapable of wrong.

Then she'd met Harry.

In many ways, the boy was her parents' opposite: wanting change, a meritocracy instead of the aristocracy the Greengrasses so cherished. She'd initially thought him mad at worst, a fool at best; how else could he contradict everything she'd ever thought was right?

Yet the more time Daphne spent with him, the more his views rubbed off on her. Take Hermione. At first Daphne had only been polite, treating the Muggle-born as a valuable though not high-ranking ally. She had been stunned when she learned that the bookish Ravenclaw was more than that. Hermione and her friends were Daphne's friends, too.

It was really quite inconvenient.

Yet their friendship had paid off. Oh, Daphne knew that they didn't completely trust her, which was wise of them. She knew they kept secrets. But overall, the experience of having unrelated human beings actually like Daphne instead of the Greengrass heiress had been very pleasant.

And it was because they liked Daphne that she was in such a predicament.

The Slytherin looked again at the note in her hand, an early Christmas gift from Hermione and Neville. They had been nervous presenting it to her, warning her not to tell Harry or Blaise. Daphne had no idea how they'd acquired the knowledge they'd written of, but it frightened her.

_Stay away from Lucius Malfoy. He took the girls, and we think that he'll try to take more. _

Unfortunately, avoiding Lucius Malfoy was rather difficult when one's sister was entering a marriage contract with his son!

Which was why Daphne was sitting awkwardly in the Malfoys' parlor, watching Draco sneer at poor, besotted Astoria and trying not to think of how close they were to the kidnapper. Lucius was in the same room, watching his wife congratulate Daphne's mother on her pregnancy.

"We were thrilled, of course," Frances Greengrass replied. "I always thought that Tori would be our last child- she was a rather difficult birth- but now we can finally renovate the nursery."

Narcissa's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you know its gender yet?" she asked. Beside her, Draco smirked.

Daphne maintained her emotionless mask with difficulty. If the child was a boy, it would take her place as Heir to the House of Greengrass- and Draco knew it.

"Too early to tell," Frances answered. "It's not due until April."

Draco's smirk grew wider. Daphne smiled at him coldly, her eyes like agates. "It will be good to have another sibling," she lied idly. She was _not _looking forward to it at all. "After all, the more the merrier."

Draco flushed. Daphne pressed her advantage. "I hope it's a boy. That way, he can inherit and I can find a husband more easily." And Astoria's husband will be even further removed from the House and its inheritance, you insufferable prat.

"Yes, when will your elder daughter become engaged?" asked Narcissa idly. "It's quite unusual to betroth the younger before the firstborn."

Julius Greengrass shrugged. "We are not a typical House," he rumbled. "Don't fret, though; we'll find her a husband eventually."

"A Light family, of course," said Lucius, speaking for the first time. Something about his voice raised the hairs on Daphne's neck. And was it her imagination, or were his eyes glinting _red_ in the winter light?

The tension rose palpably. "Of course," Frances said coldly. "We must maintain a balance, Lucius."

Narcissa's eyes flickered from her husband to her guests.

Then Draco chortled, and the tension shifted to him. "What is so funny?" asked Lucius silkily.

His son blanched. "I- I only imagined Daphne engaged to a Weasley. They are a Light family, after all."

Frances' chuckle was icy. "If we must drink white wine and with the red, why should we settle for the dregs? Why not la crème de la crème?"

"Oh?"

"We have been considering Mark Potter," commented Julius. "After all, the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be an excellent addition to our House."

Daphne nearly choked on her tea. _Mark? _They wanted her to marry _Mark?_ She'd sooner wed a dementor!

Lucius's face darkened. Daphne shuddered; there was no mistaking that reddish tint now. Even Draco and Narcissa seemed afraid.

Julius smiled, confident in his victory.

She had to do something. _Stay away from Lucius Malfoy. He took the girls, and we think that he'll try to take more. _And if he was willing to take that risk, take both those risks, in some mad scheme, then he wouldn't hesitate to destroy one who had so insulted his master. She could see him thinking, poised like a coiled snake. His eyes were the color of blood.

"Isn't Mark Potter in your year, Daphne?" asked Astoria. Bless the child, she always had been rather naïve. Normally that frightened Daphne, but now she was only relieved.

"Yes," she replied, not looking at Lucius, "but he's in Gryffindor House. His brother Harry is in Slytherin with Draco and me."

Tori beamed, turned to face her fiancé. "What're they like, Draco?"

It was an unbelievably awkward situation: Draco sitting there, stuttering nervously as he tried to ignore his father's rage and Julius's smugness, explaining why Mark Potter was an obnoxious prat (takes one to know one, Daphne thought cynically) and Harry Potter was a traitor to all Wizardkind.

Yet remembering that bloody gaze, Daphne couldn't help but be thankful her family had gotten out alive.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and sunny- and far too soon. Harry groaned, turned away from the light, tried to go back to sleep.

He had almost succeeded when a fist pounded on his door. "Harry!" yelled Hermione. "Wake up!"

Her houseguest pulled the covers over his head.

And suddenly a cold wetness attacked his head.

Yelping, the Parselmouth jerked awake. Hermione was smiling at him, the cup in her hand still poised above his head. "What was _that _for?"

"Mum's made pancakes," Hermione replied.

Harry glared.

It turned out, though, that Mrs. Granger's pancakes were more than worth the rude awakening. When breakfast was finally over, Harry felt like he had gained fifty pounds.

"Delicious as always, Jean," Mr. Granger said. His wife smiled.

"You should come work at Hogwarts," Harry told her. Her smile grew.

"I'll think about it."

"Hurry and get dressed," urged Hermione. "Mum and Dad have-"

"Sh!" her father interrupted. "You'll spoil the surprise!"

Harry wondered if he should be nervous, then decided against it. Hermione's surprises, unlike his, had never caused temporary heart failure.

The "surprise," it turned out, was not lethal at all. Hermione's parents had bought an extra Christmas tree to put up in the Chamber. Laughing cheerily, the two children Portkeyed the adults and tree into their old headquarters.

Saysa was waiting for them, her pale face white in the Chamber's dim light.

Hermione's jaw sagged. So did Harry's, though for rather different reasons. "It _worked?_"

"What worked?" demanded Hermione.

"The potion!"

Hermione Granger was an intelligent girl. She knew automatically which potion Harry was talking about. "You made her take the Animagus Potion? Harry, do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"Actually," Saysa interrupted, "it was my idea. Harry did his best to talk me out of it."

"Excuse me," said Mr. Granger, looking bemusedly at the scene before him, "but could someone please explain what's going on?"

Hermione blinked at him; apparently she'd forgotten that her parents were present. "Oh- er, right. Mum, Dad, this is Saysa. Saysa, these are my parents, Jean and David Granger."

Mrs. Granger stared. "I thought…?" she began, not quite certain how to put it. "How…?"

Saysa smiled. "Magic, of course," she replied.

* * *

Yay! Seriously, how many of you saw that coming? She's not completely human, of course, and the potion will have some weird effects, but all in all the gamble paid off nicely.

_Saysa is now free to cause havoc across the land, then again she's too mature to do that… right?_

Let's just say that things WILL get interesting…. For example, how do you think Hagrid will react to this? o.0

-Antares


	14. The Cavern of the Dead

_Rescue those being led away to death; _

_Hold back those staggering towards slaughter. –_Proverbs 24:11

Neville stared unhappily at the face in front of him. Daphne stared back. Even though they were communicating by Floo, the force of her displeasure made the Gryffindor flinch.

"Red eyes?" he mumbled unconvincingly. "I've got no idea what that means. Harry might, though, or maybe Hermione."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Really. Neville, you're a terrible liar."

Her friend winced, flinched away. "I'm telling the truth. I really don't know why Malfoy has red eyes."

He _hated _keeping things from Daphne. Not only was she a good friend, she was also the most likely candidate for Daughter of Frost. In fact, Neville was absolutely certain that she was their group's missing fifth- but until Saysa saw Daphne and pronounced judgment, he couldn't risk telling her that Lucius's red eyes were incontrovertible proof that he was possessed by You-Know-Who's first Horcrux. If he did, he would have to explain how he knew about Horcruxes, and why Tom Riddle's spirit was kidnapping purebloods in the first place. That would lead back to Harry's memories and Saysa and the Chamber and ultimately to the ancient prophecies therein.

Unfortunately for his friends' secrets, though, Daphne was right. Neville was a terrible liar.

The Greengrass heir was unconvinced. Her agate eyes, cold even through the fiery Floo, bored into Neville, searching out the truth. Neville fidgeted.

What would Harry do? Well, Harry wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place; he was a much better liar than Neville was. Daphne would have believed him. But if Harry had been having a really bad day and had gotten into that situation, he probably would have tried to change the subject.

"Er… did you see any evidence that Malfoy was responsible?" he asked hopefully.

Daphne was not deterred. "No. Only his eyes."

"Oh," the Gryffindor mumbled. "That's too bad. It would have been a really nice Christmas present if those girls could go back home."

This time, she was distracted. "So your evidence isn't good enough to withstand Ministry scrutiny," she observed.

Neville froze like a deer in headlights. Daphne continued, "Of course, the other factors don't help. Malfoy is rich and powerful enough to bribe the minister himself, and you're just a group of children. Not to mention that those foolish Aurors believe that missing werewolf is responsible."

The boy thought for a moment, then decided that Daphne couldn't possibly leap from "inconclusive evidence" to "Harry is the real Boy-Who-Lived and used Voldemort's memories to figure out that a portion of Voldemort's soul thinks that Hermione is the Heir of Slytherin and is using Lucius Malfoy to hunt her down." "Did you find anything?"

Daphne shot him a withering glare. "Of course not. Do you honestly think that anyone clever enough to kidnap thirty girls under Dumbledore's nose is stupid enough to keep them in plain sight? I'd bet my wand that they're in one of Malfoy's vacation homes. Which one do you think?"

"Er…."

His friend sighed, then grimaced. "Drat! My mum's coming. We _will _continue this conversation later."

Her head vanished from the flames, but Neville stared at the fire for a long, long time.

* * *

Harry groaned with relief, obscenely grateful that the miserably awkward meal was over. It was one thing for Mr. and Mrs. Granger to want to get to know Saysa, but did they really have to invite the basilisk over for lunch? Not that Saysa herself was at fault- she had been a perfect guest. No, had it been just Saysa and the two adults, things would have been fine.

The problem had been Hermione, who apparently believed that Saysa's "madly risky, horribly dangerous" transformation was entirely Harry's fault. Boy and basilisk had told the truth, of course, about how Harry had tried to talk Saysa out of it, but Hermione had fixated on how Harry had given her the idea in the first place. As such, she had spent most of the hastily improvised luncheon glaring at Harry from across her pizza.

On the bright side, though, the Grangers and their unusual guest had hit off immediately. The wife had an amateur interest in history; the husband was fascinated by anything magical. Wholly supernatural and over a thousand years old, Saysa was a dream come true. Most of the conversation had been between them, with Harry and Hermione making an occasional comment.

Nonetheless, Harry was still glad when the dishes were clean and he could escape Hermione's furiously accusing glares. He didn't go straight home, though. Remus wasn't expecting him until after supper.

His entire afternoon was free, and he would use it to the fullest. The diary and cup might be out of reach, but he could still capture the locket and ring. Merope and Morfin's artifacts would die that day.

Harry went to the Gaunt shack first. After all, the ring had come immediately after the diary; the locket had come much later.

Despite knowing all the curses and cantrips guarding the hut, it still took Harry almost two hours to unweave the incantations. Even then, he refused to touch the deceptively innocent-looking ring.

Harry frowned. Not many things could destroy Horcruxes: basilisk venom, some really nasty potions, a couple even nastier spells. After a few minutes of contemplation, he decided on FiendFyre. It was less dangerous than the other spell he knew of, and unlike the potions, it didn't take months of preparation. Smiling slightly, he cast the spell and watched the ring burn to ash.

One down, one to go.

Smiling triumphantly, Harry Apparated to the very boundary of Voldemort's anti-Apparition wards. The young wizard shivered; it was colder here than in Little Hangleton.

Now came the distasteful part. Harry focused, touched the Winter Queen's magic. In less than a second, Harry Potter had been replaced by Pollux Ophion Riddle.

Harry did not like his second form. It was an uncomfortable reminder of the eerie similarities between himself and the Dark Lord, not to mention that it brought up a whole slew of unpleasant memories. But it had to be done. As Harry, his magic was too immature to summon the boat; Pollux, though, was fully grown. The boat would sense him, and the resemblance to Voldemort would confuse the guardian spells. Voldemort had been older when he'd set the wards on this place, and Harry needed all the advantages he could get.

"_Pila lucis," _Harry muttered. A ball of emerald light appeared, then floated down the cave. Its conjurer stayed still for a moment to grab Voldemort's wand, then followed.

In Harry's opinion, the cave was one of the creepiest places in Britain. It was dark, wet, and cold; the magical light only made things worse, casting tall, eerie shadows across the floor and walls. Of course, it didn't help that the place was chalk-full of enchantments and Inferi.

Intellectually, Harry knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He knew all the cave's enchantments and how to get through it safely. He could handle the lake, the Inferi, even the foul potion. But he still hated treading slowly through the dreadful place, listening nervously to the magnified echoes of his own footfalls. The young wizard was almost relieved when he reached the lake. Filled with undead guard dogs or not, it was definitely an improvement over the rest of the cave.

Sure enough, the boat was waiting for him. A smile crossed Harry's face. "Good," he murmured, plopping down in the stern. His little light floated over to the stern.

The trip over the lake was mercifully short- it was getting late, and Harry had to be back by supper or Remus would get suspicious. He jumped out onto the island, then waved the yew wand in a complex series of motions, muttering under his breath.

An Inferius rose out of the waters.

Harry turned to it calmly. Was it the right one? Yes, he recognized the face. This was a serpent's corpse, Transfigured into human form to blend in with the others. **"Drink," **he ordered.

The Inferius shambled past him, over to the basin with the potion and Horcrux. It drank. Harry wondered if it felt the pain, but if it did, it gave no indication. Soon the potion was gone.

The young wizard smiled. **"Thank you," **he whispered to the serpent Inferius. **"Now rest. **_**Vermortican aeternum." **_

The Inferius collapsed. For a moment Harry thought he saw something above the corpse, a silvery thread, but then he blinked and it was gone.

He walked over to the almost-empty basin. Then he froze, turned slowly around.

The Inferi were walking slowly towards him.

Harry's jaw sagged. This was not supposed to happen! He hadn't done anything to trigger an attack!

The ball of green light flared, its strength filling the underground cavern. The Inferi stopped, stared at Harry expectantly.

Harry stared back. Were Inferi supposed to display human emotions? He'd never heard of such a thing.

The nearest Inferius gestured at its serpent brother's body. Its posture was deferential, pleading.

The Parselmouth's jaw sagged. "You… you want me to let you go?"

No response, but he thought the corpses relaxed a bit.

"Er- all right then," the wizard replied, more than a little freaked out. "_**Vermortican aeternum."**_

The Inferius collapsed, and Harry started. Yes, that was definitely a silver cloud above it, a cloud whose shape he could almost make out. Then it was gone.

The next half hour or so was completely surreal. Harry's Parselspell destroyed the waiting Inferi, none of whom lifted a finger to defend themselves. In fact, they actually approached him, body language submissive, hopeful, pleading. One by one their bodies fell, and silvery mist filled the cavern. Souls. The phantasms didn't do anything but shimmer indistinctly and vanish, yet he was filled with a strange sense of blessing, a silver cloak covering his soul. Soon the all Inferi were gone, truly dead at last.

Harry stared in amazement at the corpse-filled lake. Forty-one souls had been imprisoned there, forty-one nameless Muggles whose families would never know what happened to their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish I could give you back, but…." Voldemort had never bothered learning their names. Muggles just weren't worth it.

Shuddering, he returned his attention to the cause of their suffering. Then he gasped, his blood running cold.

The locket was gone.

* * *

It was a mark of how strange Hermione's life had become that, when a slit-eyed serpent-woman appeared in her parents' living room, Mr. and Mrs. Granger hardly batted an eye. After all, their daughter did odd things all the time; they might not understand everything, but they still loved and accepted her. Any friend of Hermione's, no matter how ...exotic, was a friend of theirs.

So, shortly after lunch, Mrs. Granger gave Saysa a pair of sunglasses and volunteered to show her around Somerset.

Both the basilisk and the witch stared, Saysa startled, Hermione incredulous. "Er… what?" the girl asked, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

Mrs. Granger frowned. "Saysa, it's been cen- a very long time since you left your home. Now that you can… mingle inconspicuously… wouldn't you like to see the world?"

The serpent-woman frowned thoughtfully. In her earliest days, before her sight had become so deadly, she had often traveled with Salazar to potential students' homes, but he disliked travel and had stayed relatively close to Hogwarts. She'd always envied the others, who went to far-off places with exotic names like Londinium and Cornwall, but she'd never set foot outside of Scotland and Founder's Isle. Humans were very good at ignoring the obvious, but someone would have noticed the giant green snake exploring their village.

Saysa smiled, then smiled wider when Mrs. Granger didn't flinch away from her too-sharp teeth. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "I would enjoy that very much."

* * *

Exhausted, Harry trudged through Remus's dilapidated apartment. "I'm back!" he yelled, then shook himself. The werewolves were working late hours because of the full moon. Even worse, it was Christmas, so they were probably going overtime as well.

There was a note on the door to his room. _Will be back around 10. Food in the fridge, just remember to clean your dishes. –Remus. _

The Parselmouth sighed, eyes drooping. One hand clutched the fake Horcrux; the other grasped the note. Freeing the Inferi had exhausted him- after all, he was only twelve. Not bothering to undress, the boy staggered into his room and collapsed into bed.

He woke up hours later to Remus's gentle shaking. The werewolf looked as drained as his ward; nonetheless, he smiled warmly. "That's what happens when you stay up too late at a sleepover," the Marauder teased.

Harry grinned, glad for such a convenient excuse. "Oh, I slept last night. I just wanted to avoid your cooking."

His godfather laughed. "Vanquished again, eh?"

"Yep."

Despite Harry's claims, Remus was actually a decent cook. That night's supper consisted of hamburgers, rare for the werewolf, well done for the wizard.

Their discussion was muted by exhaustion, not coldness, and mainly centered on how Harry had enjoyed his visit with Hermione. They turned in immediately after supper was over, not even bothering to wash the dishes.

Harry, though, did not go to sleep. He was rested enough to read the note and actually comprehend it, as opposed to just blinking at it stupidly.

_To the Dark Lord, _it began. The reader frowned. The handwriting was familiar, tantalizingly so. Annoyed, he skipped directly to the signature. R.A.B.

Regulus Arcturus Black. He'd been executed for incompetence, not treachery; Voldemort hadn't visited his cave since testing its defenses with Kreacher, the Blacks' mad house-elf.

Would Kreacher know anything?

Harry shook his head. No, the crazy old slave wouldn't obey anyone but a Black; he certainly wouldn't hand over any family possessions to a complete stranger.

The Parselmouth smiled coldly. This was just one more reason to break Sirius Black out of prison.

* * *

Her mum was mental. There really was no other explanation.

After hearing Saysa's agreement, Mrs. Granger had dug out an old green turtleneck and pair of jeans. They were a bit small, but they would fit well enough to pass her off as a normal human being.

As Mrs. and Mr. Granger ("Oh, call us Jean and David") took their guest on a guided tour of Somerset, their daughter just shook her head. _Both _her parents were mental- but in a very, very good way. It was hard to believe how nervous they'd been when she'd first gotten her letter.

Hermione grasped her Portkey. "_Ad insulam fundatorum," _she murmured.

Neither Blaise nor Neville was in the castle, though she did run into a few Hebridean Blacks. Unfortunately, none of the dragons spoke English, and though Hermione could understand a fair amount of Parseltongue, she still found pronunciation difficult. She managed to explain to them that she wanted Norberta, so the youngest flew off to find her.

Saysa's foster-daughter was flourishing among her own people. For the first time in her life, she could fly free without worrying about being spotted. There were dragons her own age to speak with, and she could still return to Saysa and the Chamber whenever she wanted.

When the dragoness appeared, Hermione (who by then was quite chilly) went to lean against her collarbones. Norberta's long, sinuous neck twisted so she faced the young witch.

Hermione lost no time in explaining what had happened. Norberta listened, her initial shock rapidly transmuting into rage. What followed the Ravenclaw's tale was a rapid slew of Parseltongue. Hermione made out the words for "Harry," "fire," and "kill," as well as several things that she thought were descriptions of anatomical impossibilities. **"Where is he?" **Norberta snarled, sparks shooting from her mouth.

"Ouch!" yelled Hermione. One of the sparks had nearly set her hair alight. Returning to more important matters, she added, "I agree; it was a horribly stupid thing for him to suggest. I can't believe your mum went through with it! She could have been hurt, or poisoned, or killed!"

Norberta froze, eyes going wide. **"Where is she?" **the dragoness screamed.

"Saysa's fine," Hermione hurriedly assured her. "In fact, _my_ mum is showing her around Somerset- my hometown."

With the reassuring knowledge of the basilisk's safety, Norberta immediately returned to the more serious business of punishing Harry.

Though Hermione felt the same way, albeit less… passionately, she didn't want to get pneumonia just to hear Norberta rant. "I'm going to the Chamber," she announced.

Norberta nodded. Her dragon friends took advantage of the interruption to ask what was going on.

After the chill of December in the Hebrides, the Chamber of Secrets was wonderfully warm. She shivered, blew on her hands.

"Hermione?"

The witch jumped. "Neville! What are you doing here? Not that I'm disappointed or anything," she added hastily, "I was actually looking for you; but I thought you'd be home for the holidays."

"Looking for Saysa," the Gryffindor explained. "What about you? And where did the Christmas tree come from?"

"My parents brought it," Hermione explained, "and you wouldn't _believe_ what happened when we brought it over…."

Unlike Norberta, Neville did not try to explode. He just looked startled, then worried. "She's okay, right?"

"Miraculously, yes. I can't believe that Harry let her go through with it!"

Her friend was confused. "But I thought you said Harry said he tried to talk her out of it?"

"Yes, but he gave her the idea in the first place," the Ravenclaw groused.

Neville frowned. "But… if Saysa was the one who actually wanted to swallow the potion… I don't really see how Harry is responsible. I mean, Saysa's old enough to make her own decisions; in fact, she's old enough to make all our decisions."

Hermione reddened. "I didn't think of it like that," she mumbled, making a mental note to apologize to Harry later. Not to mention she'd have to defuse the situation with Norberta before she led an army of angry dragons to kill the Lightning Speaker. "Er… do you think you could tell Blaise? No, never mind; it's late and we've got practice with Firenze tomorrow. I'll just tell him then."

Now it was Neville's turn to talk. "Daphne Flooed me today," he began. Hermione jerked to attention.

"Yes? How has her Christmas been?"

"We didn't really talk about that. Er- her family visited the Malfoys yesterday, you know, because of the betrothal contract, and she says that Lucius Malfoy's eyes were flashing red when he was angry."

Hermione's own eyes went wide. "So he _is _possessed."

Neville nodded. "She wanted to know why," he explained miserably.

"You didn't!"

"Of course not!" he shouted. "I told her I didn't know anything, but she didn't believe me. Then someone- I don't know who- came to talk with her and she had to go."

Hermione bit her lip. "So _we _know that Malfoy is possessed, but we can't tell Harry and Blaise that we know without also telling them that we warned Daphne away from him, which we weren't supposed to do. But it's important that they know about this, because we need to get the diary Horcrux and destroy it and we don't know what effects destroying it will have on Mr. Malfoy." She groaned.

Neville said doubtfully, "I suppose we could just pretend it came up in passing."

"No," the girl replied, "you're not a very good liar, Neville."

"That's what Daphne said."

Hermione sighed again. She was _not_ looking forward to Firenze's lesson. "We need to find out if she's really the Daughter of Frost," the Ravenclaw muttered. "If only we knew!"

"Saysa just needs to see her," agreed Neville. He hesitated. "D'you think we could bring her to a Christmas party? No, it's too late for those; all the major ones are over. Maybe a New Year's party?"

His friend nodded thoughtfully, the wheels in her brains whirling and turning. "Yes…. We could put a glamor over her eyes- she can't wear sunglasses in the Wizarding world- and you could ask Daphne which parties her family is going to- but make sure to tell her it's only because you want to meet up with her then. Blaise should come too, and maybe Harry and I could stop by in our other guises- they wouldn't let us in otherwise."

"It's as good a plan as any," sighed Neville, "and maybe if we tell Harry and Blaise about it right before we mention warning Daphne, we can escape with our limbs intact."

* * *

Poor Hermione and Neville; really makes me feel for them. Of course, it was their fault in the first place, so this is karmic justice or something (actually, not karmic- I don't believe in karma. And it's not exactly poetic justice either…)

-Antares


	15. Moonstone and Silver

_Whoever says to the guilty, "You are innocent,"_

_Will be cursed by peoples and denounced by nations. –_Proverbs 24:24

If Firenze's exercise routine had been unpleasant in the fall, it was downright miserable in winter.

It had snowed the night before, so the four humans had to trudge through almost a foot of sludge. Neville kept tripping, Blaise had a cold, and Harry's threadbare gloves couldn't keep out the chill. Even Hermione was unhappy, having fallen into a half-frozen stream.

Though centaurs were much heavier than humans, Firenze hadn't fallen once. He stood ahead of them, watching with a critical eye. It was obvious that they wanted nothing more than a break and a warm cup of tea- yet not one of the children stopped their slow jog.

He smiled. That was far more important than physical labor.

"Enough running," he announced. Neville froze, jaw sagging. Apparently, Firenze's proclamation was too good to be true. "Follow me back to the grove. It's time to learn archery."

Harry instantly perked up. "Excellent," he muttered, "I need that for the Fae."

Firenze was instantly alert. "Do you need a special kind of wood or silver-tipped arrows?"

"Rowan wood for the bow and the arrows, please," he sighed, "but I don't need any silver."

"We shall make one."

The Parselmouth grinned. "Thanks."

Fortunately for Harry and Blaise (Hermione and Neville had mixed feelings), the archery practice was nowhere near as tedious or exhausting as running. After retrieving the bows (and a warm, nutty cider) from the centaurs' grove, the class headed back to the Chamber. It wasn't balmy by any means, but they wouldn't have to worry about frostbitten fingers.

Stringing the bows took only a couple minutes, just long enough for feeling to return to their extremities. Then Firenze gave them the basics of aiming and ordered them to start shooting. That continued for an hour or so, and only Blaise made any real progress.

Then came the moment Hermione and Neville had been dreading. They glanced at one another, neither wanting to spill the beans. Amazingly, though, Harry cut them off.

"Blaise, Nev, I need you to promise not to kill me."

Of course! Harry didn't know that Neville knew about Saysa, and Blaise certainly didn't know. The Gryffindor fidgeted. "Hermione told me," he mumbled.

Blaise seemed rather nervous. "Oh, _Merlin, _what now?"

"Don't worry, I haven't found another thousand-year-old reptile living under the school. One basilisk is enough for me."

The black boy was not reassured.

It took Harry several minutes to relay Saysa's condition. Blaise was relieved; compared to Harry's other secrets, this really wasn't that bad.

Now it was Neville and Hermione's turn. "Er…" the Gryffindor began, deciding it was better to tell the good news than the bad, "yesterday Hermione and I were talking, and there's a ball coming up on New Year's Eve that Daphne's going to, so since Saysa looks human now- at least, she would if someone put a glamor over her eyes- we thought that we should bring her there and see if Daphne really is the Daughter of Frost." He glanced at Hermione, silently begging her to take over.

The Ravenclaw sighed. "And… we also have proof that Lucius Malfoy is being possessed. Neville was talking to Daphne the other day, and she mentioned that Malfoy's eyes flashed red when he was angry." Maybe if they were really, _really _lucky he wouldn't ask….

They weren't lucky. "But why'd she tell Neville?" Harry wondered. "No offense or anything, but we're only second years. She wouldn't know that we know what red eyes mean."

His friends blushed. "Er… we _might _have warned her to stay away from the Malfoys," confessed Hermione.

Harry froze, horrified. "What!"

Surprisingly, it was Neville who spoke up. "Her sister's engaged to Draco, remember? Of course she'll be in contact with him. She's in even more danger than the other girls!"

For some reason, his defense caused Hermione to grin widely. "We didn't tell her anything more, of course, and… it's not like she can discern all our secrets just from the one warning. After all, who would suspect that you're the real Boy-Who-Lived and that we're all conspiring with Slytherin's thousand-year-old monster and a dragoness to overthrow Voldemort and Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, that is a bit of a stretch," Blaise quipped. Then his expression became serious. "Actually, I have something to say, too.

"You know that I'm supposed to be a Seer. Well, last night I had a dream, a prophetic dream, and it's probably the most important one I've ever had.

"The four of us stood on a white island. It was night, and in the north storm clouds blotted out the stars. We tried to make a shelter, each working on his or her own wall, but when the storm came our structure fell and crushed us.

"Then my dream changed. This time there were five builders, but I couldn't see the fifth one's face. Our shelter had five walls of five different colors, but every builder had helped with each wall. When the storm came, the world took shelter in our creation, and it did not break."

His eyes burned. "For once, I actually know what this means. We have to work together, trust each other. That means no more secrets, no more lies. From anyone."

Harry hesitated, sighed. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Yes, o great Lightning Speaker?" asked Blaise angrily.

"It's about Azkaban…."

* * *

The werewolf containment facility (nicknamed CC or "Concentration Camp" by its residents) was divided into three sectors. The first was Auror territory, the barracks and two social lounges they attended on breaks. The second and largest belonged to werewolves. It was shabby and rundown, but at least it was inhabitable.

The third area also belonged to the werewolves- but only on full moon nights. It was situated right underneath the Aurors' barracks, though the full-humans rarely spent the night there.

Harry sneezed. Undoubtedly part of everyone's aversion to this place involved how dusty and dirty it was.

The cell- that was what it was, though it was much larger than most- was completely filthy. Dried blood stained the bleak stone walls, which were old and cracked with fungus growing at the seams. There was no light source. Cobwebs adorned the high corners, ghostly in the faint glow of Harry's wand.

The Parselmouth sneezed again, sniffed, and gagged. The air was sour with rage and fear and pain, not to mention the dried blood and musky odor of an animal. He tried to imagine it on a full moon night, when werewolves crowded in to await their monthly torment. If _he_, a mere human, hated the scent, the werewolves must loathe it.

Worst of all, though, was the fur. There were over two hundred werewolves in the CC, and every single one came into this room once a month to get hairy. Then they fought, and shed, and generally lost portions of their coats.

Harry had known it would be bad, but nothing had prepared him for the ocean of fur. He was no neat freak, but he nearly started scourgifying then and there.

_No, _the young wizard reminded himself, _this is a good thing. Well, for me at least. You're here for the fur, remember? _

Shaking himself, the boy reached down and snatched a handful of hair. It was soft and warm, like a dog's instead of a feared monster's. Harry carefully tied the little bundle with a spare thread that had fallen off one of Remus's robes. He knew it was fairly creepy- but at least there was enough fur that he didn't have to steal a lock of Moony's hair. _That _would be just _wrong. _

Hermione's plan was simple: she would make him an anti-dementor amulet. Admittedly, no one had done so yet, but they didn't know about the dementor-werewolf feud. Harry had, ironically, taken the formula from anti-werewolf amulets: add the essence of something detrimental to the thing you wanted to ward off to a receptor like silver or onyx. For werewolves, charm-crafters would use a combination of Wolfsbane Potion and cougars' blood. Apparently, cougars and true wolves hated each other in the wild; Harry personally thought that the werewolf amulets were a scam, but he knew that vampire and banshee amulets constructed with similar principles worked.

Usually.

He Apparated to Hermione's home in Somerset. The witch shot him a filthy glare- she'd never forgive him about Azkaban- but accepted the materials and went to work.

Three and a half hours later, the exhausted witch stared critically at her first amulet. It was quite disappointing, really: an innocuous, roughly circular lump of silver with a moonstone in the center. She'd chosen the materials because silver was associated with the moon (duh) and Patroni and moonstones had obvious lunar connotations. She was grateful that the lycanthropic aversion to silver was just a Hollywood legend; she could hardly use gold with werewolf fur, and other whitish metals were far worse at containing magic.

Harry peered more closely at the charm, frowning slightly. The silver was crisscrossed in fine lines. The lines passed through the moonstone, which was filled with a spider's maze of gray, black, brown, and even a few reddish threads.

That was bad. The werewolf fur obviously hadn't integrated properly if it was still visible.

"I'll wear it anyways," Harry promised. "You're being too hard on yourself. I bet it works just fine." But neither child believed him.

Depressed and despondent, the wizards looked back on Harry's book of amulet-crafting. The recipe they'd been following had originally been intended for vampires; it was probably their modifications that botched things. Nonetheless, Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon searching for where she had gone wrong.

* * *

"Foul" was the only way to describe Azkaban.

Norberta snarled. **"Never have I seen a place so deserving of fire!" **

"**I know," **Harry replied. **"Dementors have a way of… of **_**infecting **_**everything they touch. They are the vilest, most evil creatures to walk the world." **

"**And your idiot human brethren have made an alliance with them," **muttered the dragoness.

"**That's humans for you," **agreed Sisith.

"**You're sure you can get him out alive? Mum will kill me if I let him die." **

"**No." **

Norberta's glared at the elder serpent. **"I thought you'd been here before?" **

"**I was, and I can get him out **_**quickly. **_**There's no guarantee he'll be alive." **

"**Thank you for the encouragement, Sisith." **

The three were circling above Azkaban Isle, heavily Disillusioned and highly nervous- at least, Harry and Sisith were. Norberta wouldn't admit feeling fear if her life depended on it, and she was only there to drop them off. The boy wizard and his oldest friend would do the dirty work.

His friends had wanted to come, but the Parselmouth had forced them to stay behind. They didn't know the Patronus charm; they didn't have time to learn.

Hermione, of course, had been furious. Harry should wait for them _to _learn, then, she had screamed, instead of rushing off by himself! Did he want to die? What was so special about Christmas Day, anyway?

There were many reasons he'd chosen to invade on Christmas Day. First, the Aurors all had the day off. It certainly wasn't practical, but as no one had ever even come close to breaking out of Azkaban, their leniency was understandable. Second, Christmas was a _happy _day, filled with presents and family and laughter. He, Harry, could take strength from that, but the dementors would be weakened. Last (though he would never admit it to his male friends, maybe Hermione, once she'd calmed down, though), he just didn't have the heart to ruin anyone's Christmas.

"**Thanks for the ride, Norberta," **Harry sighed as he dismounted onto an isolated little cove. Grimacing, the Parselmouth touched his Fae magic and transformed into Pollux. Fingering his silver-and-moonstone amulet (it couldn't hurt to wear the thing), Sisith wrapped around his shoulders, the wizard began cautiously walking towards the fortress itself. A few feet from the entry, he stopped.

When Harry was much younger, he'd learned about the wizarding world from a network of serpent informants, including Sisith's parents. The child had devoured every piece of information they brought him. After all, only a wizard could talk to snakes; he needed to know.

Then one day, one beautiful, sunny day, he'd heard of Hogwarts, a school for wizard children! The boy-child had listened with shining eyes to stories of huge towers, of learning and joy, of the basilisk in its depths. And best of all, _he_, Harry James Potter, would one day go there! He and Mark could finally leave the wretched Dursleys behind; they could have friends and learn all sorts of cool stuff and become closer than ever.

Things had not worked out that way, but the child in the memory didn't know that.

His future self conjured up more images, more joys: his first flight, meeting Saysa, discovering that Mark was famous, Remus taking him in, his friends' concern when they learned what he was planning….

It was the _people _who mattered, Harry realized. They were the ones who created the memories, who gave birth to joy and love. Flying was exhilarating, but it had no soul. Patroni reflected this: they represented someone that the caster loved, a brother, a parent, a friend, lover, child….

Lily, James, Mark, Lisse, Zill, Sisith and his brothers and sisters, Hagrid, Hermione, Neville, Blaise, Daphne, Remus, Saysa and even Norberta….

"_Expecto Patronem," _the Parselmouth muttered.

A serpent glided from his wand, silver and beautiful as the moon itself. Lisse, perhaps, or her son Sisith, or maybe even Saysa. He wasn't sure; he had many reptilian friends.

Harry stepped into the fortress.

Protected by two serpents, one black and one white, the Lightning Speaker darted through the prison. The few prisoners still coherent enough to see him stared stupidly at the brilliantly shining Patronus, ignoring the Disillusioned man and snake. The spell might not affect dementors, but it would keep anyone from describing Pollux.

"**Left!" **Sisith cried. **"Straight. We're almost- **_**there!" **_

Harry spun on his heels, faced the cell.

Dudley Dursley had been in Azkaban for the better part of a year. His clothing was stained and grimy, his hair matted and overgrown. Once fat, his face had become almost emaciated; his filthy clothes hung off him like a shroud.

He was twelve years old, a month older than Harry and Mark, and blood of their blood. Petunia and Vernon deserved their fate, but Dudley had time to change- assuming they got out alive.

No time for delicacy. Harry darted over to the sleeping boy, a vial of Shrinking Solution in his hands. The Parselmouth shoved it into his cousin's mouth. Dudley blinked blearily, the contact waking him. His eyes grew wide with fright- and no wonder, what with a strange man forcing him to swallow some unknown _thing. _Grimacing, his rescuer took out the yew wand and Stunned him.

The potion took effect. Smiling slightly, Harry put the shrunken Dudley in his pocket. For safety, he added a Cushioning Charm and sealed it shut. Magic was a wonderful thing.

The air went cold. Sisith hissed, rigid across his shoulders.

Harry spun around.

Dementor!

A silver blur shot across the hall, mouth open to display fangs. The dementor fled, undoubtedly to gather its comrades. Lovely.

"**Out of the cell!" **Sisith bellowed. **"Go right- down those stairs- down- d-"** His instructions cut off in a curse.

The wizard tried to stop himself, but he'd gathered too much momentum. His Patronus leapt ahead, coiled around the dark shape; the dementor tried to flee, but it didn't have enough time.

Harry crashed into the dementor. Wizard, demon, snake, and spell went tumbling, bouncing off the wall and falling down another set of stairs. They landed in a rather embarrassing position, the dementor atop the human, close enough to kiss.

Close enough to Kiss.

The Patronus flickered as horror filled its maker. He was going to die, he would lose his soul-

No! -

His Patronus was back!

But even before it reassembled, the dementor glided away as quickly as it could. Harry blinked, astonished.

Then he realized that the moonstone amulet was warm against his chest. Did it actually _work? _

It must have, he realized; weren't dementor's semi-incorporeal? Yet that one had been quite physical. Patroni didn't have that effect, so that left the amulet. He wondered if that had to do with-

No, Potter. Focus. They know you're here; you have to get Sirius out. **"Sisith!" **

The snake was fine, though he'd fallen off Harry's shoulders in the tumble. It took him a few seconds to regain his orientation, but then wizard and familiar were off and running.

Unfortunately, the basement was the most heavily guarded place in Azkaban. The serpent Patronus wavered under pressure from so many dementors. Harry, too, had problems. It was harder and harder to remember his friends' faces, to think of the good times he'd spent with Mark. He could remember his twin's betrayal, their fight, their rage; Hermione and Neville had broken his trust; Blaise and Daphne were just using him and it hurt hurt hurt-

He could hear a woman screaming….

(He was playing with Mark in their ninth birthday, laughing at how small their party was)

"_Not Harry! Not Mark! Don't touch my boys!" _

(It was Halloween; his friends didn't care that he had Voldemort's memories; they still loved him)

"_Avada" _

"**Harry! Your Patronus- it's dying!" **

"_Kedavra!" _

"**My memories aren't happy enough!" **

_The screaming stopped. Mark was crying as the dark man approached them…. _

"**Then use his!" **

The crazy man in purple was telling him, Tom Riddle, that he was a wizard- Hagrid was taking Harry and Mark away from the Dursleys- Merope, that was her name; Merope of Little Hangleton- Remus was telling him about his parents-

Silver filled the world. Harry blinked, gasped. His Patronus had doubled in size, glowing brighter than the moon. Light cascaded from its form, banishing the shadows and demons, who shrank back in… fear?

A voice like a man's death rattle invaded Harry's brain. "Who are you?" There was darkness in that voice, and despair, and all the evils in the world: a lost child, a hopeless slave, a raped woman. Like the dementors themselves, it stood for all that was wrong and foul and vile.

The Parselmouth couldn't suppress a shudder. He felt unclean, like the slimy hand of an Inferius had reached out to caress his mind. His Occlumency shields faltered, then grew strong.

He remembered the look on Hermione's face when she realized that he _was _going to Azkaban, that she couldn't stop him, that look of concern and friendship and love….

Step. Step. The dementors parted before his Patronus, too afraid to attack. "Who are you, wizard? Why do you invade our lair?" 

Harry ignored the first question. "I am here to free an innocent. The guilty may rot, but you can't have Sirius Black."

Laughter, even worse than the voices. It reminded him of rotted meat and skeletons. "Innocence matters not. Guilt matters not. Only the strength of souls is real… and yours is strong. 

"It will sustain us for a long, long time." 

Hermione, Neville, Mark, Blaise, Daphne, Remus….

"You're wrong," he said quietly. "It's innocence and guilt that give the soul strength. I am as innocent as Sirius Black. You will touch neither of us."

Saysa, Sisith, Lisse, Zill, Hedwig….

The black dog huddled in the corner of its cell. Whimpering softly, it turned away from the Patronus's silvery light, back to the shadows.

"Who are you?" Was it just his imagination, or was the dementor afraid?

Harry crouched down to the dog, thought of how happy James and Lily would be that their best friend would soon escape. "I'm real, Sirius," he said gently.

He placed the moonstone-and-silver amulet around Padfoot's neck.

"_NO!" _The dementors' collective mind-voice washed over him like an avalanche of filth. They _were_ afraid- but they were also very, very angry.

"You cannot triumph, Stormson!" they raged. Harry gagged, fumbled for his Portkey. Sisith hissed furiously, naming all his friend's closest companions. "The Chalice is destroyed, and night has swallowed the moon. Your fate shall inspire nightmares for centuries to come!" They charged. The silver serpent, teeth bared in a silent hiss, reared to strike.

Harry pressed his ouroboros ring against Padfoot's too-cold flesh-

"_**Ad insulam Fundatorum!" **_

-and they were gone.

* * *

Sirius Black moaned.

Ugh… it felt like he'd been run over by the Knight Bus, then handed to the Giant Squid. No, make that _two _Giant Squids. Or a few dozen dragons.

"He's awake," said a woman's voice.

Sirius jerked, looked wildly around.

He was not on Azkaban. He was- he was- free!

The Animagus stared at the people in front of him, two women and three men. The first woman, the one he thought had spoken, was a short thirty-something of Indian descent. Her large brown eyes were filled with relief.

The other woman was ghost-white and dark-haired. She was tall, dressed all in green, and a pair of Muggle sunglasses perched on her nose. Padfoot inhaled, sneezed. She smelled like snake.

The dog turned to the men. One was tall and dark-skinned, with close-cropped hair and rugged features. The man on his right was his opposite: fair and golden with brilliant blue eyes.

It was the last man, though, who caught and held Padfoot's attention. He was tall and handsome with strong features and an aura of unconquerable strength. A slender black snake rested across his shoulders, staring calmly at the ex-prisoner. It was obvious that this snake-bearer was the leader… and the one who had saved Sirius.

"You can change back, you know," commented the blonde man.

Padfoot blinked, then realized he was still in dog form. He hesitated, then transformed, grimacing at the scent of his robes. He was a mess, and he knew it: greasy, matted hair; uneven beard; robes in filthy, sweat-stained tatters. The only decent thing on his body was the snake-man's silvery amulet. For some reason, he hadn't reclaimed it, not that Sirius was complaining. It had some kind of effect on dementors, which was impossible.

Then again, it was also impossible to escape from Azkaban.

He listened in a daze to their explanations: they knew he was innocent, they wanted to help. There was food downstairs and fresh robes in the wardrobe. He could pick a wand from their collection of spares; how good was he with children? Excellent. There was a Muggle boy in the next room who needed a guardian.

"But for now," finished Saysa the snake-woman, "you must rest. We will return tomorrow." She glided out, followed closely by the others.

Sirius gawked, shook himself. Rest? They wanted him to rest on the best, most confusing day of his life? It was probably a good idea, but since when had a Marauder listened to good advice? Well, besides Moony, of course….

Moony. Of course!

Smiling for the first time in over a decade, Sirius Black loped down to the wand room. He wanted so badly to tell the werewolf he was innocent, that Pettigrew was the traitor.

He'd waited eleven years. Why should he wait any longer?

* * *

Uh-oh… Sirius, I don't think this is a good idea. I realize that you're ecstatically happy and in shock and all that, but Moony still thinks you're a murdering traitor.

Up next: a confrontation, Remus talks to himself, and Saysa crashes a party! Then it's only a couple more chapters until I wrap this up.

Happy reading!

-Antares


	16. Mischief Managed

_Rash words are like sword thrusts, _

_But the tongue of the wise brings healing. _–Proverbs 12:18

Remus Lupin woke up to the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in years, a voice he never wanted to hear again. "Moony… oh _Moony…." _

Sirius Black, murderer, traitor, and madman, loomed threateningly above his bed. It had to be a nightmare, his human mind said. No one's ever escaped from Azkaban. It just wasn't possible. He'd had too much Christmas ham, and in the morning he and Harry-

Oh, Merlin, _Harry. _

Images exploded in his mind like sunbursts: a wolf, battered and bleeding, fighting a dark dog so a bird could get away; a raven in a treasure hoard; a dark silhouette soaring before an endless pack of wolves. Remus's human mind put words on the pictures: _I must defend the raven. The raven is precious. _

_The raven will lead the Hunt. _

The wolf snatched control. Human Remus was thrown into the back of his mind, able only to watch helplessly as a ravaging monster attacked his former friend.

With a furious snarl, the werewolf pushed himself out of bed. Sirius, his face unnaturally clear in the dark room, seemed to realize that waking up someone who did not like you was a bad idea. He jerked away just as Moony entered a fighting position.

"No, Remus, I didn't-" His words were cut off by a punch to the nose. Sirius stared at his friend in horror, hesitating. The werewolf charged. For a few seconds they were a tangled mass of limbs and snarls, then Padfoot transformed and ran for his life.

Furious and bloodthirsty, his human mind still struggling against the wolf's feral rage, the other Marauder tried to follow, but he couldn't stand. His back hurt; his legs didn't bend properly.

The wolf was unperturbed. He simply dropped to all fours, decided that this was much more comfortable, and chased after the panicking black dog.

If Remus had possessed control over his voice, he would have screamed. It wasn't the full moon, that had been just a few days ago- but he had _transformed. _

_That was not possible! _

Desperate, terrified, the lycanthrope groped for control of his body. It wasn't the full moon; maybe he could reassert control- but the wolf ignored him, simply knocking Sirius into a wall. The dog yelped.

Light flashed, and suddenly Moony couldn't move. It flashed again, and Sirius froze.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?" Harry demanded.

Both halves of Remus were torn between horror and pride. After all, their precious raven was in danger- but he'd also managed to take down two rabid canines. In fact, Remus hadn't heard him shout an incantation. Had he seriously just performed _silent _magic at the age of twelve?

But enough of that. He still had to regain control. Man and wolf struggled, but the animal was exhausted from escaping on a waning-moon night, and Remus won easily. After all, the wolf knew its ferocity wasn't needed any more; Harry had defeated Sirius easily. More than a little relieved, Remus shifted back to his human form.

Harry watched the transformation with huge eyes. "Oh…_kay…._ If I let you loose, will you try to kill him again? Blink twice if the answer's no."

His godfather blinked twice.

"_Finite incantatem._ I repeat: What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"That," Remus growled, gesturing at the paralyzed dog, "is Sirius Black, the traitor who handed your parents over to Voldemort. He should be on Azkaban, but he somehow escaped. Probably wants to finish the job."

Padfoot made a noise of protest. Harry frowned at him. "Blink twice if that's true."

The dog did not blink.

"I'll go get the Aurors," Remus said.

"Wait," his godson replied. "I want to try something first. It's called Legilimency, and it will tell us everything we need to know."

* * *

Sirius clasped his fellow Marauder's hand nervously. He understood the necessity of what they were doing, but was it really necessary to have the _twelve-year-old _act as their Bonder? Unbreakable Vows were serious magic, far beyond the capacity of a mere second year.

But Harry (little Harry, all grown up and looking so much like his father it was almost physically painful to look at him; Harry Potter with Lily's eyes) was not an average second year.

"Will you, Sirius Orion Black, swear to tell my godson and me the truth about October thirty-first, nineteen eighty-one?"

"I will."

"Will you, Sirius Orion Black, swear to tell my godson and me what happened the day you were arrested?"

"I will."

"Will you, Sirius Orion Black, swear to disclose how you escaped from Azkaban?"

"I will."

Remus released him. The other Marauder began to speak.

He told them how he'd asked Peter to be Secret-Keeper instead, but the rat had betrayed them. He explained that yes, he'd gone looking for the filthy traitor, but Pettigrew killed twelve Muggles and escaped in rat form, leaving Padfoot to take the blame. Finally, he told them about Pollux coming for him, about the five wizards at the castle and the Muggle child.

Silence.

Finally, Remus's shoulders slumped. "Since you're not dead, I owe you an apology for distrusting you," he said quietly. "Forgive me?"

Sirius smiled. "Only if you'll forgive me for suspecting you."

The werewolf smiled. "Deal."

Harry chose that moment to interrupt. "Who cast the Fidelius Charm?" he wondered.

"Dumbledore, of course."

"The same Dumbledore who runs the Wizengamot didn't have enough influence to get you a trial when he _knew _you were innocent?"

Both men froze. Remus muttered something that sounded like, "Tyr was _right._"

"Yeah," Sirius agreed faintly. "That Dumbledore."

"Thought so."

Moony jerked. "By Merlin, he might be coming now!" The werewolf looked about wildly, as though expecting the headmaster to materialize from his woodwork. "Padfoot, he knows we're friends- you _have _to get back to that castle!"

His friend stood to do so, then blanched. Remus stared at him in horror. "Please tell me you know how to get back."

"Er…."

"_Sirius!" _

"Oops?"

Remus began to pace, a bad habit left over from O.W.L.s. "A safe place- safe place-"

"The full moon room! I'll bring him there!" Harry yelled.

His godfather nodded. "Brilliant! But how- no, I don't want to know. I'll stay here in case he comes. Harry, get Padfoot to the full moon room."

The boy darted into his own bedroom, came out clutching a snowy owl's cage, parchment, and a pen. "So you can contact them," he explained to Sirius. "We can't keep you in Furryland forever."

"Furryland?"

"You'll see. But there's something else I need to do. Remus, is that wolf of yours still awake?"

The Marauder flinched, which was answer enough. Now _there _was a problem. It was physically impossible for werewolves to transform on waning-moon nights, so how had Moony done it? Obviously not voluntarily.

"Good." Harry met his godfather's eyes. "Wolf, listen to me. Remus is perfectly capable of defending himself without your help, so _quit taking him over._" The boy's voice was filled with authority. "If you don't, there will be consequences. Understand?"

His godfather was stunned. "It's- it's _listening _to you. Harry, how are you doing that?"

"I really have no idea. But Remus, I think we need to leave now."

The werewolf nodded. Wizard and dog ran off into the night.

* * *

Dudley Dursley was miserable.

First he and Mum and Dad had been kidnapped by those wizard freaks. Then they'd been thrown into that horrible dark place where he'd kept remembering- no, he didn't want to think about what he'd kept remembering. And now he'd been kidnapped _again _and abandoned in a tiny room in the middle of nowhere.

Well, it wasn't that tiny. It was actually about the size of his room at Smeltings, before-

Dudley whimpered.

The room was sparsely decorated, just a bed with plain blue covers, a small desk, a wardrobe in the corner, and a bookshelf. One of the walls had a huge window with real glass, not the plastic stuff at Privet Drive. The floor was covered with navy rugs.

The Muggle looked out the window, noting sadly that there was only a featureless snowy landscape outside. Sighing, he walked over to the desk. If this was anything like- like- well, he wouldn't be able to escape, so he might as well be comfortable.

There was a note on the desk.

_Dudley, _

_You are free. This is not because the Wizengamot (wizard Parliament) decided to let you leave early but because I stole you. Unfortunately, this means that you are now a fugitive in Magical Britain, but I think we both agree that this is better than rotting in Azkaban. _

It was hard to argue with that logic.

_You are not here alone. When I came to retrieve you, I also rescued a man named Sirius Black. _

Dudley froze. What about Mum and Dad?

_Sirius is in the room next to yours; it will be easy to find him. He will be able to explain everything. _

_Pollux Ophion Riddle _

The Muggle's eyes flickered back to the first paragraph. Free…stole…fugitive… no parents…. He read it five times before breaking down into sobs. Mum and Dad were still in that- that _awful _place where they made you feel horrible and the food was bad and there wasn't any light and- and- Dudley began to hyperventilate.

He came to several hours later to someone shaking his shoulders. "Mum?" the boy whimpered. He knew it wasn't her, but maybe if he kept his eyes shut it would all be a dream.

"No. Sirius Black, baby-sitter extraordinaire. Call me Padfoot."

Dudley opened his eyes. The man in front of him was kind of scary-looking. He was really thin, almost like a skeleton, and just as pale. Wait. Weren't there vampires in the magical world?

"Don't eat me!"

"Wha?"

Another man stuck his head through the door. He didn't look like a vampire, but he might be something else like a- well, he couldn't think of anything that this man looked like. Maybe he was a vampire hunter?

"Sirius! I told you not to scare him!"

"But I didn't even do anything! I just woke him up and he started screaming."

Evidently, the other man was not a vampire hunter; on the bright side, Sirius hadn't attacked him yet.

"Hello, Dudley," said a calm, familiar voice. It was young but calm and confident, even more so than what he remembered.

"Harry?"

"The one and only," his cousin replied, bowing slightly.

"What's going on?" Dudley demanded, latching onto the only familiar face. "Where're my parents? Why's there a vampire trying to kill me?"

"Hey!" yelled the vampire, offended.

"I will answer that," said a woman's voice. Its owner entered Dudley's now-crowded room. She was tall and pale, dark-haired, with a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. "I am Saysa."

She spoke for the next several minutes, explaining that her friend Pollux did not believe that a child should be subjected to Azkaban, nor should an innocent man like Sirius (who was apparently _not _a vampire). Pollux had decided to hide the escapees on Saysa's private island, which she had inherited from her parents. There was food and drink enough; they could contact the main island via dragon-back (at this point she was forced to halt her explanation to calm the panicking males down); and nothing could possibly find them.

"I believe it's your turn now, Master Black," she said dryly, giving the wizard a dry smile.

Sirius blushed, then began his portion of the story.

He'd run off without thinking to find the normal-looking man without knowing how to get back. Dudley didn't understand the next part, only that it involved somebody named Dumb Door (wizards had such strange names) and a place called Furryland. Then Saysa had come and brought him and Remus and Harry (who was apparently living with him; Dudley wondered what had happened to Mark) to the island, and they would all live happily ever after.

Naturally, Dudley was more than a little overwhelmed. "But what about my parents?" he kept asking. "Why didn't this Pollux guy save them, too?"

He did not like the answer. A tiny part of him knew that his parents probably deserved jail time for being mean to Harry and Mark, but Azkaban was fresh in his memory. He loved his parents and didn't want them to go through that anymore.

He barely listened to Saysa's promises that someone named Pallas would stop by tomorrow and take them shopping for whatever they needed and answer all their questions. Dudley needed his family, and he couldn't buy that for all the money in the world.

* * *

"Punch, m'dear?" the old man asked.

Saysa shook her head. "No, thank you," she murmured. "If you'll excuse me…" She darted into a crowd of middle-aged witches. That was the third time the old man had spoken with her in the past half hour; she had better things to do than ward him off.

Like finding Daphne. Where _was _the blasted girl?

The basilisk sighed. She really needed to leave, for her temper if nothing else. This party was nothing like the old Halloween Gala or the Fae's gatherings. Those were formal and dignified without being stuffy. This one was rowdier than anything she'd ever seen. Helga would have had apoplexy.

Neville and Blaise said that the Christmas party was formal and structured. Admittedly, it was also hideously boring and a cesspool of plots and bribery, but she probably would have preferred that party. This gathering's music was too loud, its lights too bright, its attendants too drunk, and all the males kept _following _her. The one who'd offered her punch was only one of six.

Christmas was for business; New Year's Eve was for fun. Even purebloods needed to unwind sometimes, and they had forgotten how to do that in an appropriate manner. The supposed reason for this was that half-bloods attended the New Year's bash, whereas the Christmas party was purebloods-only.

To make things even worse, the glamor Hermione had placed on her eyes and teeth itched and was beginning to get painful. Glamors were not supposed to do such things!

She continued through the middle-aged witches, past a young couple snogging in the corner (as she passed them, the young woman's mother came up and dragged her daughter away; good riddance), and over to a gaggle of stupid-looking girls. Grimacing, the serpent-woman reached for her own innate magic.

Colors flamed around the party, colors and scents and tastes and sounds. They weren't, of course, but Saysa couldn't explain the sensations in any other way. It was her sixth sense, serpent magic that allowed her to discern things about magic and personality.

Her head ached, so she looked over them as quickly as possible. None shone with the peculiar aura shared by Harry and Hermione and Blaise and Neville; none was the Daughter of Frost. Saysa released her sense and sighed as the headache weakened. She'd never had headaches before in either form; it must be a side effect of the Animagus potion.

Rubbing her temples and ignoring her male followers, the disguised serpent continued her wandering. Her head still hurt, and she hadn't seen Neville or Blaise. She hadn't seen Daphne, either, though she'd checked any girl of the right age, just in case.

Then she glimpsed a familiar head of brown hair, quickly swallowed up by festive dress robes. Perhaps Neville would know where his friend was. She followed him.

Fortunately, the round-faced boy hadn't gone far before stopping to talk with someone. Saysa grinned, revealing glamored teeth. She recognized the girl's face.

Neville Longbottom had led her to Daphne Greengrass.

Saysa closed her aching eyes. When she opened them, her sixth sense was in full force, as was her now-agonizing headache. Smiling, she turned her attention to the two children.

Neville was not quite as she remembered him. His colors were still in earth tones, as befitted the Prince of Flowers, and he still smelled of greenery and dark soil, but the navy cords of melancholy were weaker. Many of the gray stranglers that had choked his potential were gone, and she could see pale purple charisma and golden loyalty and the pure white of inner strength. They weren't as strong as Harry's purple, gold, and white, not yet; but they would be.

Daphne's aura was composed of blues and teals and stormy gray. She had the green of cunning and a gray shield of coldness covering her heart, but there were cracks in the shield, flecks of ocher and brown. She smelled of salt water and rain and the ozone odor of lightning, and something about the way her not-colors and not-scents interacted reminded Saysa of a summer shower. And best of all, there was an indefinable quality to Daphne Greengrass that named her the Daughter of Frost.

Saysa beamed. Tears sprung to her glamored eyes, making them itch and hurt more, but she didn't care. Neville had been right! They had _found _her!

Daphne turned to look at something, Saysa didn't care what, and Neville glanced at her. The basilisk nodded, and her friend's face split into a brilliant grin. His aura sparked and glistened as more of the indigo and gray creepers disappeared.

Then someone bumped into Saysa, and their connection shattered. Bile rose in the serpent-woman's throat. It felt as though she'd been pelted with slugs. Grimacing, she turned to see who had bumped her.

Saysa's blood ran cold. She recognized that face, that profile. Even if she hadn't, she could have guessed his identity by the _wrongness _of his aura. He had two: one was a snobbish peacock blue with tarnished-silver greed, the other was vile madness and hate and arrogance. That set of not-colors was stronger than the other.

Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and vessel of Lord Voldemort.

Hate surged in her blood. This was the boy who had defiled Salazar's name, forced her to kill and terrorize, and effectively ruined Harry's life. For the first time in her many years, Lady Saysa of the Chamber wanted blood. _His _blood.

She forced herself to look away. Malfoy and Voldemort both deserved death, but not tonight. She would never escape if a member of the Wizengamot dropped dead at her feet.

Just to be safe, though, Saysa glided as far from him as possible. Think of the good things, she ordered herself. Daphne is the Daughter of Frost. Tomorrow Neville will bring her to my Chamber and we can explain everything to her. We will be complete.

The joy was enough to make her forget her rage. The moment Saysa was out of sight, she whipped out the Daughter's- Daphne's- snowflake pendant. **"Hope," **she breathed.

And then she was home.

Harry and Hermione- Blaise, like Neville, was somewhere at the party- jumped up. They'd been playing Muggle chess, but the game was totally forgotten for their friend.

Saysa closed her eyes and shifted to her natural form. **"Neville was right," **she said without preamble.

Harry beamed. Hermione laughed with joy. Saysa grinned at them. **"You should go home now," **she commented. **"We will have a long day tomorrow." **

Hermione, embarrassed, glanced at Harry. The Parselmouth translated, and his witch friend nodded. "I'll be here at ten. Oh, this is so exciting!" Smiling widely, she Portkeyed home.

"**G'night, Saysa. Happy New Year." **

"**Good night, Harry. May this year be better than the last." **

He, too Portkeyed away. A wave of exhaustion swept over Saysa. Well, it had been a long day. Smiling, the basilisk coiled into a ball and went to sleep.

She awake many hours later to gentle pressure on her sides. **"Who goes there?" **

"It's me," Hermione replied sheepishly. "I didn't want to be late, so I came early. It's about nine fifteen; they should be here in forty-five minutes."

Those forty-five minutes passed quickly as the two females talked about their experiences the previous night. Saysa didn't want to change into her human form; she was still tired from last night, so Hermione had the opportunity to practice her Parseltongue. Harry and Blaise showed up a few minutes before ten, tense and jittery from the excitement. Hermione gave them her and Saysa's reports.

Then it was time for Neville and Daphne to arrive. Saysa shifted into her human form, realizing that the girl would probably not be comfortable with a giant snake. The children watched the Portkey point with eager eyes.

Then Neville appeared- with_out _Daphne.

Exclamations of "What's going on?" and "Where is she?" echoed around the Chamber. Neville looked ready to cry.

"She's gone," he gulped. "Lucius Malfoy got her."

* * *

Well, I said in the summary that Daphne would be kidnapped.

I know that a lot of you were expecting a lot more chaos as Saysa crashed the party, and I'm sorry for letting you down. Don't worry, though; in two chapter you will receive a hilarious scene of dramatic irony. You'll love it.

_Ah, so close and yet so far, what'll happen next I wonder? Will they find her? Mayhaps._


	17. Stormson

In this chapter, I make a very blatant reference to the Dark Prophecy in Robert Jordan's _Wheel of Time: The Great Hunt_. I do not own this prophecy, but its rhythm and creepiness were so amazing that I had to do something similar.

You didn't think I'd forgotten about Kreacher, did you?

* * *

_When the storm has passed by, the wicked are gone _

_but the righteous stand firm forever._- Proverbs 10:25

Why was he doing this again?

Before his imprisonment, Sirius Black had spent New Year's Eve partying away at the annual bash. Granted, he couldn't exactly do that anymore; there _were _disadvantages to being a wanted felon, after all, but he'd wanted to spend the night with Remus, Harry, and even Dudley. It was exactly the sort of thing the Muggle boy needed; he alternated between functioning like a normal human being, long bouts of depression, and periods of intense rage at Pollux Riddle.

But alas, a party was not to be. Remus and Harry had to show up at the annual werewolves' party to keep up appearances. That made Sirius very nervous. Remus had told him all about Harry's odd effect on lycanthropes; putting the boy in the midst of two hundred plus slightly drunken werewolves did not seem like a good idea.

It was tearing poor Moony apart. Between Dumbledore's betrayal and his wolf-self's odd behavior, the man was quickly becoming paranoid.

As Dudley was asleep and his friends were unavailable, Sirius really had nothing better to do than fulfill Pollux's request.

"Kreacher!"

Mumbling insanely, the house-elf materialized. "-noble House of Black, oh what would Kreacher's poor mistress say to her filthy traitor son? Should have died in Azkaban-"

Sirius bit back an automatic order. Pallas and Apollo had a soft spot for house-elves and had told him to use orders only as a last resort.

"Kreacher, I know about the locket."

The lunatic froze. For once, he was silent, though his lips still moved. Creepy, that.

Sirius pressed his advantage. "I know Regulus wanted you to destroy it. Have you?"

The servant burst into tears. "Kreacher has failed in the noble duty Master Regulus gave him! Kreacher is a bad elf! Failure, fool-"

"Kreacher-"

"-unworthy of such a sacred task-"

"Shut up!"

The house-elf shut up. Was he _crying?_

Sirius grimaced. "Well, I know some people who can destroy it. Can you get it now?"

Pop! and pop! again. Kreacher held out a golden locket. "How will Master destroy it?" he asked fervently. "Master is a good brother to Master Regulus, a good son to my poor Mistress, even though he consorts with werewolves and blood traitors and filth."

"Er… thanks."

"Will Master grant Kreacher a boon? Kreacher wishes to see the locket destroyed for Master Regulus. Master is a good Master, please Master, please let Kreacher see."

It took a few seconds for Sirius to decipher that, but he eventually nodded.

"_Sure. _I'll go get Pallas now. Er- she's the lady who knows how to destroy it."

Human and house-elf went to Pallas's room. She was sitting at her desk, reading a tome on the history of dementors. Sirius opened his mouth to introduce his guest, but the elf beat him to it.

"Kreacher's Master says that Mistress is a great and powerful witch and that Mistress will destroy the locket. Kreacher begs Mistress to kill it. Kreacher will-"

Pallas smiled at them. "Thank you, Sirius, Kreacher. May I see it, please?"

The elf practically tossed it in her face. "Kreacher thanks Mistress, whose blood is as pure as white snow and whose magic is without limit. Kreacher begs Mistress- and Master, who is a good Master and a good brother to poor Master Regulus- to let Kreacher see. Kreacher knows he is a bad elf, unworthy to lick the shoes of Master and Mistress, but-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Pallas ordered hotly. "There was nothing you _could _do. This locket was enchanted by Lord Voldemort himself. Only a Parselmouth can surpass its defenses, and so far as I know, there are only two alive. One is Voldemort himself. The other is Pollux, and he's been teaching us. I'm still better at understanding than pronouncing, but…." Her voice trailed off into a hiss.

The locket sprang open. Thick, ugly mists poured from its center.

"You can destroy it now," said Pallas calmly. "That was, after all, Regulus's dying order, and that magic should overcome its own."

The mists solidified into the visage of Regulus Black. "You failed me!" he cried, glaring at Kreacher. "You abandoned me to die, you ungrateful little traitor! _This means clothes."_

"It's not real," Pallas told the petrified elf. "Regulus is dead, Kreacher. This is only an enchantment."

Sirius opted for the direct approach. "She's right. Kreacher, destroy it."

Elf magic was tied to obedience. With Regulus, Walburga, and Orion dead, Sirius was the only remaining Black. Kreacher couldn't have denied him even he'd wanted to.

_Not_ that he wanted to.

The locket shattered. Sobbing, Kreacher collapsed.

Startled at how much that concerned him, Sirius darted over to the unconscious elf. His chest moved; he was alive. His master was once again surprised at how much that relieved him. Scowling, he turned to Pallas. "What in the name of Merlin and Morgana _was _that?"

The witch scowled. "It's called a Horcrux," she replied.

"Never heard of them."

Eyes cold, Pallas explained.

* * *

Almost a day after Kreacher destroyed the Horcrux, silence reigned in the Chamber of Secrets. Daphne Greengrass, Daughter of Frost, their ally, their _friend,_ was missing.

"How?" Harry finally croaked.

"I dunno," Neville replied. "Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass just said she'd gone to bed right after getting back, and she just wasn't there today. Astoria- y'know, her little sister- she's frantic. And if Daphne's gone, I'll bet anything that loads of others are, too." He glared. "What're we standing around for? We have to help them!"

"He's right," Blaise agreed. "Even if it _wasn't_ just wrong to leave them, Daphne knows that we know Malfoy's behind the disappearances. If he's Legilimencing them like Harry thinks, he'll know too. Then he'll come after us before we can do anything."

Harry nodded, grimacing. "You're right."

Hermione whispered, "We shouldn't have waited."

The Parselmouth flinched. "You're right, too. But Neville, we can't just rush in blindly. He might only be sixteen, but he _is _still Voldemort, and Lucius may have done something to his wards in the past eleven years. In fact, I'd be surprised if he hadn't."

"But you can still get through them, right?" asked Hermione.

Harry nodded. "But I don't know how long it will take. You guys will have to cover me."

Blaise nodded. "Consider it done. But we still need more plans…."

* * *

"I've just received some troubling news," commented Albus Dumbledore.

"Oh?" Lockhart asked.

"You recollect the kidnappings in November?"

"Of course; who could forget? Such a tragedy, obviously the work of that werewolf Ulfhednar. I'm just glad that he's too cowardly to attack the school directly- and with good reason! If I'd known about his evil plots, I'd have easily stopped him."

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore interrupted. He could not wait until Tom's curse took effect and forced this moron out of his school. There was a reason he hadn't undone it, after all. "But there has been a repeat incident."

Lockhart froze. "Wha? More kidnappings?"

The headmaster nodded gravely. "Not as bad as the first time round, fortunately; only six children. Still, it is a horrible occurrence."

"Indeed," the fraud blustered. "Terrible, terrible. If only the Ministry would let me in on the hunt- I'd've found the girls in a day, at most, and given that werewolf a trouncing to boot! But now the full moon has already passed, and I'm dreadfully afraid for them. Not even I can cure lycanthropy- and that's saying something!"

"What's unusual," Albus continued, "is that all these girls attended the annual New Year's Bash last night. How a wanted criminal could penetrate those defenses…. It worries me, Gilderoy."

"Well," his idiotic employee exclaimed, "at least the remaining girls will be back in school, soon, under my protection."

"Excellent, but I was more worried about the train. Do you think you could add some of your own defenses?"

Lockhart froze. "Well- it will take a while to prepare, and I'd need to plan- certainly! Yes, I'd like to see that Ulfhednar try to get onboard. Why, just a few years ago…."

Mark Potter tuned them out. "More girls are missing?" he muttered nervously. Didn't Ron have a younger sister? And what about the girls in his own year?

The Gryffindor glanced after the two professors. It was really bad that more girls had been taken….

So he, Mark Godric Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, would have to rescue them!

It was as simple as that.

* * *

Dumbledore stood in his office. "Well, Gilderoy, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting. After all, there is much to do if you are going to ward the train."

Lockhart (who had been blathering about vampires) started. "Of course! Yes, I'll get right on it. Smiling brilliantly, he exited the office.

Good riddance.

Now for more important matters.

"Fawkes," he called softly, and the phoenix glared. Annoyed, Albus repeated himself. _"Fawkes." _His familiar did not budge. "Do I really have to use your True Name for something so trivial?"

The being called Fawkes flew over, perched on his master's shoulder. Nodding, Dumbledore entered his Penseive.

Memory-Dumbledore walked calmly through Azkaban prison, guarded by his phoenix Patronus. On real-Dumbledore's shoulders, Fawkes bristled. The silvery bird never ceased to offend him.

Memory-Albus met the first dementor, and Fawkes made a hissing noise.

The dementor began its report: "He had help." 

The memory seemed startled. "Who entered Azkaban to rescue a friendless murderer?" he demanded. "Give me details."

The dementor continued, its words blurring into sensations. The creature was distressed, otherwise its mental English would have been purely vocal. "My people were patrolling as usual when one of my brothers encountered a free human. It was not an Auror; we did not recognize it." A sense of normalness and calm, prisoners despairing, no reason to worry. "It was near the cell of the" (not-magical bad-meal) "Muggle boy. It drove my brother away with a Patronus." Searing heat, bile, revulsion and fear. "My brother left to warn us of an intruder. 

"Soon after" (time passed, and it was short; the world did not warm or cool in sunlight) "a second brother" (genderless fellow predator, extension of self) "encountered the same" (sense of the person, so brave and frightened; an animal of some sort; the Muggle boy's mind subdued in slumber; that horrible hot Patronus) "human. It touched my brother physically." (shock at the contact that only other dementors could initiate; fear; a flickering scent of fur and anger)

Memory-Dumbledore frowned. Fawkes's head perked up, his curiosity roused.

(no sense of time passing) "This brother was near others, and for a while, the intruder's Patronus faltered." (cold devouring heat, devouring heart; despair and fear, fine wine and fine meat, so intoxicating to the dementors; suddenly a burst of heat and hope and some unspeakable/indescribable sensation that caused terror and horror in the prison guards) "The intruder did not drive us back, yet we could not stop him from removing the prisoner. We spoke, hoping to distract" (destroy, feed on one whose soul would last a long long time) "him."

The conversation between intruder and dementor entered Dumbledore's mind. Currently, it was stored in a separate Penseive. The memory-wizard opened his mouth to ask a question, but the dementor intercepted him.

"The prisoner was" (a touch of an animalistic mind, or perhaps a simplified human soul) "yet before" (a sense of the intruder, and with it another sensation: something fierce and wild and dreaded, something they were beginning to recognize) "arrived, we could still feed off Black's soul. Then the intruder gave him something" (fur and fury; shock at something they'd long thought destroyed, disgraced; something familiar, terrifying, and deadly) "and it became much more difficult to consume him." 

Memory-Dumbledore frowned. "An amulet?" he murmured. "Then this is a very clever wizard- very few are capable of inventing new amulets." And fewer still were capable of frightening dementors. As though speaking to himself, he continued, "A pity that dementors are blind; I could have used a description to track him."

The temperature dropped. Sensations filled Dumbledore's mind: the howling of wind, the crash of thunder, the slapping of rain against the ground; all these were somehow personified in a single person.

Stormson.

The memory's face remained blank, but the real Headmaster allowed himself to smile. He'd always suspected that dementors had access to prophecies- after all, they had guarded prisoners since the Roman invasion. Statistically speaking, there _had _to have been Seers among those unfortunates.

Over the years, he'd learned quite a bit from the Hall of Prophecy, but who knew how much knowledge the dementors possessed?

It began to speak. For once, its words were purely vocal; after all, it was repeating the vocal words of some long-dead wizard.

"Heart of the moon, it hunts again,  
The ancient war it yet fights.  
The old magic it seeks, which brings change to the change, and change still.  
Who can stand before its coming?  
Light comes to the shadowed isle.

"The maid of water falls alone,  
She calls her friends to pain and fear.  
Five together shall live, but broken must fall.  
The dreamer speaks; what shall they choose?  
Lies bring victory, death brings death.

"Wolf fled to the halls of the past,  
Moonlight once lost is now found.  
The hunt shall soon begin, when Odin's hounds shall course and kill.  
Kill the first that you may live,  
And break the Stormson's wings.

"The nobles wait on Founder's Isle,  
Old councils meet to burn the ancient lie.  
With heat o'er heart to touch your robes, the hated Stormson comes.  
To save the dog and broken child, the longed-for Stormson comes.  
The drums of war shall sound again, when twice-born Stormson comes.

"Now the Stormson comes.  
Air first, then flame and earth and last of all the sea,  
Ere Stormson frees the doom that shall forever be."

The dementor grew silent.

"That's enough for today, Fawkes," murmured real-Dumbledore. Suddenly they had returned to the Headmaster's office. "What do you think?"

The bird burst into flame.

"Yes, it would be pleasant to be rid of the dementors. However, that is not what I meant."

Fawkes shrugged. His master raised an eyebrow. The phoenix deflated. Then he began to sing. _Claire de Lune _filled the office, followed shortly by the incongruous "Werewolves of London."

"That much was obvious. An unstoppable 'heart of the moon' that hunts again, 'Odin's hounds,' and the wolf who fled could only refer to werewolves. If the prophecy is being fulfilled now, I would assume that the individual wolf refers to Alpha Ulfhednar, whose name references Odin's special wolf-warriors.

"The dog and broken child are undoubtedly Black and Dursley. However, I don't know why this 'Stormson' stole them; perhaps he's trying to garner influence with the Potter twins. That makes him my enemy. But this is meaningless; 'the first' is the crux of the matter."

A cold smile reached his eyes. "'Kill the first that you may live,' and 'Air first, then flame and earth and last of all the sea.' It should be simple enough to lay a trap for him or her, then let the others break and fall."

Fawkes wilted. Very few had escaped his master's traps before. Softly, sadly, he began to sing a funeral lament.

* * *

Daphne would never admit it, but she was terrified.

None of the others had been harmed. They were healthy, their limbs intact, their sicknesses taken care of. They hadn't been raped or beaten or mutilated; for his own inscrutable reasons, Lucius Malfoy hadn't touched them.

That was what scared her. She could understand ransoming or abuse; she couldn't understand the unnatural way he ignored them.

_Don't worry, _she ordered herself, _they know, all four of them. I don't know why they didn't rescue anyone sooner, but Neville and Hermione will never let Blaise and Harry leave me behind. _

Malfoy, finished staring at the girl beside her, leaned down to stare into Daphne's eyes. Her heart beat furiously; there was even more red in his eyes than before.

For an infinite moment he stared at her. Bizarrely, Daphne found herself remembering the Halloween feast; what did _that _have to do with anything? Then thoughts of Neville and Hermione's note sprang up.

Lucius hissed, eyes shining crimson. Daphne gasped, jerked away.

"So," their abductor murmured, too quietly for anyone but the Greengrass heir to hear, "a blood traitor and a Mudblood know?" He smiled coldly. "And you take comfort from that, don't you, girl? Do you really think that a buffoon and a Muggle can defeat a fully grown wizard?"

She did not answer. How had he known?

Malfoy laughed, a high, cold sound. "Nonetheless, it wouldn't do for them to speak. I shall be paying your little friends a visit." Then he grabbed the girl next to Daphne- she shrieked as his hands grabbed her chin- and stared. Finally, with a hiss of disgust, he released her. Shaking, the girl fell to the floor.

Daphne stared after him in horror. Somehow, she had betrayed her friends- inadvertently, certainly, but the deed was still done. Now they would die. Her stomach churned with desperation. She had to stop Malfoy from getting to them! She _had _to!

A wave of exhaustion washed over her. The Slytherin tried to stay awake, but her eyes had a mind of their own, drooping shut without permission. Pale and shaking, the Greengrass girl lay down.

Outside, a storm began to brew.

* * *

Yeah, I know that a storm is THE most overused metaphor in literature. Bear with me, though; THIS storm has a purpose. Two of them, actually. One will become apparent next chapter, and it will contribute to reason 2, which you'll learn about later on. However, the storm (and what it does next chapter) are _not _plot devices or deus ex machina. They have a point and a reasonable explanation. You just won't learn it right away.


	18. Lightning Strikes

Summary of Horcruxes: The ring, diadem, and locket are dead. The diary, cup, and scar are still at large. Of course, Harry doesn't know about the scar….

* * *

_The father of the righteous will greatly rejoice; _

_he who begets a wise son will be glad in him. -_Proverbs 23:24

Slytherins quickly learned to keep their emotions under wraps. After all, they were schemers (though half the schemes involved dating and/or petty rivalries), and schemers couldn't afford to wear their hearts on their sleeves. The incarnation of Tom Riddle in the diary was even more unemotional than most (his future self was a different story). Nonetheless, it took a great deal of willpower to make Malfoy's body stop gawking.

Of all the idiotic, imbecilic things to go wrong…. _Why, _in the name of _bloody Merlin himself,_ had that lightning bolt struck Lucius's Flooing room? Of all the places it could have hit, it _had _to strike his parlour, burn the wretched place half to the ground, and completely destroy his store of Floo powder? It was so bloody unlikely that he spent the next hour out in the rain searching for sabotage.

It turned out that there were traces of a spell, but they were faint and of a type he'd never before encountered. Riddle scowled. His future self might have recognized it, but he was only sixteen: more learned than the average teen, but still only a youth.

The distinctive _crack!_ of an Apparating wizard interrupted his train of thought. Scowling, the young Dark Lord whirled about-

-only to come face to face with himself.

The other man was older (though not quite Lucius's age), taller, his face more lined with experience, but that was undoubtedly the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle. For the second time in as many hours, the diary Horcrux barely kept his jaw from sagging. His future self was supposedly destroyed, a disembodied spirit. Perhaps someone under Polyjuice? If not, it had to be another Horcrux, one created sometime in his thirties. How had he gotten a body?

Then the stranger spoke, and Tom's theories were blown right out of the water.

"**So, my guess was correct. Which of my father's Horcruxes are you?" **

Lucius's stolen body nearly suffered a heart attack. _**"Father?"**_ he repeated incredulously. _**"**_**My future self had a **_**son?**_**"** And obviously one whom he trusted/will trust, if the other Parselmouth knew about his plural Horcruxes.

The young man bowed- not as deeply as the Death Eaters, but still deep enough to be respectful. **"I am Pollux Ophion Riddle, my lord, your son and most loyal servant." **

Tom sneered. **"If you are so loyal, why does Mark Potter still live?" **

"**Because the so-called 'Boy-Who-Lived' belongs to you,"** Pollux answered nonchalantly.** "And because I was far more interested in restoring you to your former glory." **

His… father (that would take some getting used to; discovering at sixteen that he was father to a thirty-something man was just bizarre) couldn't argue with that logic.

"**My own daughter"** (oh _Merlin, _now he had a granddaughter too? He was only sixteen!) **"and spy at Hogwarts** **reported that another had found her way to our family's Chamber. Thinking that some impure fool had stumbled into Slytherin's heritage, she allowed the supplementary guardian- you placed the dragon there after leaving Hogwarts; the basilisk was going senile and two monsters are better than one- to attack your host. Then you performed a Dark curse that no first year could accomplish, and she realized your host should taken for questioning. However, by the time she had calmed the dragon enough to pursue your host, your soul had already fled. I punished the girl harshly, of course; failure is not tolerated." **

By now the two men had entered the undestroyed segment of Lucius's mansion. Tom struggled to digest everything Pollux had told him. Even aside from having a _family_ (how had that happened?), this was a great deal to comprehend. One detail, though, struck him as false.

"**If your daughter-" **easier than saying 'my granddaughter' **"-is at Hogwarts, why have I not apprehended her?" **

Pollux smirked. **"When the girl was born, you wisely suggested that she masquerade as a Mudblood. After all, who would suspect?" **

Riddle smirked back. Yes, that _was_ something he would do. **"Tell me more," **he commanded. **"Lucius did not realize that you existed." **

His… son shrugged. **"Few did, my lord. Aside from your Horcruxes, I am your best-kept secret and most deadly weapon. At birth, you see, your future self performed a blood ritual…." **

* * *

"It cannot possibly be this easy," muttered Hermione. "_Some_thing- I don't know what- will go wrong any minute now."

"Aren't you the perky one," muttered Blaise. He switched his attention to another person. "I told you to call him."

Narcissa Malfoy stared in mute horror at the four wizards who had accosted her. She had been walking through Knockturn Alley when Harry's "locate the Dark Mark" charm had found her; here, muggings were almost commonplace. She'd been dragged into a dimly lit side street and not one fellow shopper had lifted a finger to help her. Even worse, she'd been unable to move or cry out for help, and the odd woman with _golden _eyes kept staring into her own gray orbs. She could only think that the golden-eyed woman was a Legilimencer, and considering the secrets she kept for Lucius, that was very bad.

"Guys, I don't think she can move," said Neville. He blinked. "Saysa, are you doing anything?"

The serpent-woman blinked, and Narcissa twitched. The witch felt dizzy, disoriented, sluggish. Evidently, Saysa's eyes could now paralyze.

"It seems that I was."

"Great! Now that she's not paralyzed, maybe she can call Dobby."

Narcissa licked dry lips. "Dobby," she whispered.

With a tiny pop, the house-elf materialized. He blinked in confusion at his mistress, and no wonder: she trapped in an alley and being held at wandpoint by three irate wizards.

"_Silencio,"_ Hermione murmured. "Now give him clothes."

Dobby's jaw sagged. He glanced at Narcissa, briefly considering freeing her, then grinned as the witch slipped out of her jacket.

The second Dobby's hands touched the clothing, he announced, "Masters and mistresses, Dobby knows where the girls is."

Blaise grinned. "So do we," he laughed. "Dobby, my name is Apollo Peverell. These are Alexander Chamberlain, Pallas Dhar, and Saysa."

"Smoking Mirror," breathed the awed elf. Narcissa just looked confused. "You is coming to save them!"

All three wizards grinned. "Right you are," Blaise proclaimed. "But we need you to get us through the wards. Will you?"

Their new ally's face nearly split in two. "Dobby would love to!"

* * *

So far, Harry's part of the plan was going off without a hitch. Poor Tom was so befuddled by his appearance and Parseltongue that he took everything Harry said at face value. Now all Harry had to do was keep him talking until to signal came- and since he had Voldemort's memories, that should be easy to do. It would be even better if he could get the Dark Lord to Lucius's main manor, but that was impossible. This incarnation didn't know how to Apparate; he'd tried several times but had been forced to stop after Splinching himself and losing almost a pint of blood. With the Floo being destroyed (that was too strange to be a coincidence; he would look into it later), there was really no way for Voldemort to leave.

The children's plan was working beautifully, so naturally something had to go wrong.

Draco Malfoy strode into the sitting room. "Father," he complained, "Dobby isn't listening to me."

Malfoy's stolen face scowled. "If you are incapable of commanding a house-elf, boy, you are unworthy of… our… House's power."

The blond boy gawked. Harry raised an eyebrow. **"If this… boy… is your host's son, does that make him my brother?" **

He could almost see the wheels turning in Voldemort's brain. **"Yes… you would be a much more effective heir to House Malfoy." **

Draco jumped. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Parselmouth?" he whined.

"Leave," Riddle ordered dispassionately.

"I _can't_. The Floo's down, I can't Apparate, and Dobby won't listen to me!"

"**May I make a suggestion, my lord?"** At Riddle's nod, Harry drawled, "Then call another elf. Surely you don't have just one?" Maybe if he was really, really lucky, the elf would take him and Riddle away too.

Unfortunately, Draco took this the wrong way. "Flapsy!" The elf materialized. "Go find Dobby!" She vanished.

Harry's heart froze. If Dobby wasn't answering Draco's call, he was free. If he was free, then….

Flapsy rematerialized, her already large eyes bugging out. "Flapsy is a bad elf!" she shrieked. "Flapsy is very bad, but Dobby is even badder! Dobby is a bad, bad elf- he is betraying Master's secrets to wizards."

Now all three males were paying attention. "Explain," ordered Tom.

His slave burst into tears. "Dobby has brought strangers onto Master's island! They is taking the girls away!"

* * *

"_Portus,"_ Neville incanted, touching Regulus Black's wand to the disposable plastic spoon. It shimmered for a few seconds before he gave it to the three fourth-year girls. They vanished.

If anyone had told the ten-year-old Neville Longbottom that in less than two years he would be creating Portkeys to help a bunch of girls escape the Dark Lord Voldemort, he would have backed away _slowly_. Yet here he was, doing exactly that.

They had worked out the most efficient system before arriving: Saysa, her eyes glamored once again, and the ecstatic Dobby would organize the girls into lines. Each of the three humans would create Portkeys out of disposable Muggle silverware.

They had transported about half of the girls when the house-elf appeared. For a breathless second, everyone was silent. Then the new elf shrieked, "Dobby, what is you doing? You is betraying Master and young master!"

"Dobby is not!"

"I is not listening to your lies!" the female wailed. She vanished.

"_Portus!"_ Blaise shouted, jabbing furiously at his plastic knife. He practically threw it at the next in line. "_Portus._ Dobby, can you get- the unconscious girl- out of here? Pallas, Alex, _move!_"

Neville glanced nervously at Daphne's unconscious form. According to the girls, she'd collapsed after Malfoy had left the room. The common consensus was that he'd recognized the Greengrass' heir as a threat and done something to incapacitate her.

Unfortunately, the news that Lucius Malfoy was on his way sparked a panic. Terrified children mobbed their rescuers, grabbing at still-unenchanted cutlery.

"Calm down!" Saysa roared. The pandemonium slowed; no one had known just how forceful the serpent-woman could be. It almost seemed that order would be restored. Then Lucius ruined it by running into the room, Harry (as Pollux) and Draco following behind. Neville's eyes met his friend's; the younger wizard shrugged helplessly.

Well, at least Harry could jinx him in the back if something went wrong.

A murderous hiss interrupted his gloomy optimism. Neville froze. He'd never heard Saysa that angry before.

Then he realized how bad things really were.

The diary Horcrux had been created with Moaning Myrtle's death- a death that Saysa had caused. She was facing the truest incarnation of the man who had emotionally tortured her, forced her to go against everything she believed in, everything Salazar (her father, despite what she said) had stood for. He'd ruined her name, disgraced her family, stolen her hope, and broken her heart. She had very little reason to let him live.

And with basilisks, even a glance could kill.

"Saysa, don't kill him!" shouted Hermione. The serpent-woman's hiss cut off in a cough. Neville, deciding that her gaze probably wasn't deadly anymore, risked looking up.

Saysa was staring at Hermione, her expression frozen in utter disbelief.

"How touching," sneered Voldemort. "How very Light, refusing to kill even your enemies." His smile could have frozen the sun. "How foolish. I do not share your compunctions. _Avada Kedavra._"

Green light sparked at the front of Malfoy's stolen wand, aimed straight at Hermione. Neville recognized the curse; Harry had told them all about it. He dove at the startled Ravenclaw's legs, hoping to knock her aside before the curse hit.

He was not the only one who dove.

Pollux Riddle's body collided with the shell of Lord Voldemort's host, forcing him forward. His hand twitched; the Killing Curse went awry, collided with the ceiling. It exploded in a burst of light and sound, opening a hole to the storm outside.

"You want to know what's great about Slytherins, Tommy-boy?" sneered Harry. "We're _liars. _And we're good at it, too." He rolled aside just in time to avoid Draco's weak-looking Body-Bind.

"H-Pollux, get away from him so we can shoot!" Hermione ordered. Neville took a leaf out of Draco's book and shot a Leg-Locker curse at the younger Malfoy. His aim had improved immensely since Harry and Firenze began tutoring them. Aiming arrows and aiming spells were almost the same thing.

Draco was down, dropping his wand in surprise. Saysa, unable to use her visual magic, darted forward too quickly for any human and grabbed it.

Blaise had been shouting out curses too, but in the chaos Neville hadn't heard him. Worried, he turned to Harry- what if Blaise had hit him?- to see that the younger wizard had disentangled himself from Lucius and was exchanging curses with him. As Riddle's host also had to deal with the jinxes Hermione was shooting his way, it was a short battle.

Still very confused, the Prince of Flowers turned to the Smoking Mirror, who was examining a pair of unconscious house-elves. Neville raised an eyebrow. "First rule of combat," his friend explained. "Never underestimate any enemy. House-elves have powerful magic- Dobby got us past Malfoy's wards easily. If Malfoy had ordered these two to fight, I don't know what they would've done."

Neville blushed.

The remaining girls (their rescuers had almost forgotten they were there, they'd been so quiet as they tried to hide in a corner behind Dobby, who was currently bouncing up and down with excitement) gawked. The Gryffindor stared at them, thinking about how he'd taken action while they just hid. It made him feel funny, like he was in a greenhouse and he'd just made a rare plant blossom and produce seeds. With a start, he realized he was proud of himself.

In a too-calm voice, Saysa said, "Please finish making the Portkeys. We need to talk. All of us."

* * *

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt was visiting the Three Broomsticks pub with a few trainees when the girls started materializing outside. Blinking, he set down his tankard of butterbeer and trotted outside, followed closely by this trio of pupils. Two more girls had appeared before he got outside.

Trainee Tonks yelped. "Aglaia!" For a moment, it seemed as though the Metamorphmagus would run forward, but she restrained herself. "Sir, I know her; she's a year behind me in my old House. She went missing in November!"

The girl, Aglaia, collapsed on the ground, sobbing. Three more young women appeared.

Kingsley took control. "Auror-Trainee Tonks, try to calm them down. See if you can get any names. Watson, get their Portkeys and trace them back to where they originated. Brooks, call for backup." He silently summoned one of the used Portkeys- odd, it looked like a plastic fork- and began casting diagnostic spells.

Tonks darted towards her House-mate. "Calm down, you're safe now, you're in Hogsmeade…." Watson blinked stupidly at Kingsley's fork. Brooks just blinked stupidly. Annoyed, the Auror repeated himself. "Watson, Portkey. Brooks, backup. Now." Watson found a fork of his own to stare at. Brooks darted back into the Three Broomsticks, hopefully to use its Floo to contact Headquarters. More likely he just wanted to steal what was left of Kingsley's butterbeer.

Back to business. Shacklebolt frowned at the results of his tracking spell. The Portkey had obviously come through some very powerful wards; he couldn't get more than a vague sense of direction and an even vaguer sense of distance from it. "Find anything, Watson?"

"No, sir."

"I did," volunteered Tonks. "Lucius Malfoy is behind this."

"_What_?" Kingsley had never believed that tripe about Ulfhednar, though he doubted the werewolf was totally unconnected- coincidences usually were- but he'd never have suspected _Malfoy. _The man was a quintessential Slytherin: cunning, cautious, and far too canny to do something as stupid as kidnapping dozens of pureblood girls. He forced himself back into his professional mask. "Does she know why?"

"None of us do," whimpered Aglaia. "He didn't- he didn't hurt any of us- but-" She broke down in tears.

"Tonks! Watson!" barked Shacklebolt. "You and Brooks take care of these girls. Get them into the Three Broomsticks and keep away any onlookers." He Disapparated.

The Ministry was always slow this time of the day, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was even more so. Kingsley had Apparated right in front of Director Bones's office. He walked in without knocking. "Lucius Malfoy has the girls. I need two teams, a professional ward-breaker, and the location of all Malfoy's estates to mount a rescue mission."

Silvery light burst from Amelia's wand. "Report," she ordered.

The story didn't take long; he finished with praise for Trainee Tonks. A disgruntled-looking Auror wandered into the office. "I was in the middle of lunch," he whined.

Kingsley fought back a curse; of _course _it was lunch break. How many lazy fools would actually give up their pork roast to do their jobs?

Bones's face twitched. "Deal with it," she ordered crisply. "Shacklebolt has a lead on the girls. I believe your niece was among them?"

His jaw sagged.

All in all, it took over an hour for the Aurors ("Always there, always prepared!") to mobilize. Kingsley was ready to burst with impatience.

Malfoy's main manor was unoccupied except for Narcissa, who had been Stunned, hog-tied, and hidden in the broomshed (fortunately, someone had added a Heating Charm to the shed, so she hadn't frozen to death). Two Aurors popped her into a Ministry holding cell.

Their summer home, though, was far more interesting.

Two unconscious house-elves, each holding a sock, were sprawled out on the floor. Between them was a boy under the full Body-Bind with a note taped to his forehead.

The girls were gone.

"Search the house," the head Auror ordered. He approached the cursed boy, tested the note for curses, and, finding none, began to read.

_To whom it may concern, _

_By now, all the kidnapped girls but one should be in Hogsmeade. The other was in need of medical attention and sent to St. Mungo's. _

_Lucius Malfoy is currently being held prisoner in our headquarters, where no one will believe that he's "under the Imperius" or accept his bribery. If and when we decide to release him, he will be sent to the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade. _

_His son, Draco, knew full well what his father was doing. In fact, he provided Lucius with the list of names. The house-elves, however, are blameless: they could no more disobey their master's orders than stop breathing. If, however, you insist on punishing them for something over which they had no control, we ask that you send them to Dobby, who has decided to serve as our house-elf. _

_Lucius's wife Narcissa was also a willing accomplice in her husband's schemes. She is currently hidden in the broomshed of their main home. _

_-P.O.R._

By the time he'd finished reading, Kingsley's eyebrows were ready to fly off his face. Then he sighed.

Time for paperwork.


	19. Daughter of Frost

_Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; _

_Bind them around your neck, _

_Write them on the tablet of your heart. –_Proverbs 3:3

Sirius was quickly learning that life on Founder's Isle tended to oscillate between exciting and dull. The first exciting cycle had lasted for Sirius' first two days of freedom, when he'd been settling in and riding dragonback to the nearest city for supplies. It ended the day his hosts arrived with their prisoner.

Sirius and Dudley watched with fascination as Pollux, Pallas, Saysa, Apollo, and Alexander lugged the unconscious body of Lucius Malfoy into the castle. A very raggedy-looking house-elf danced- literally- behind them. "Dobby is thanking you so much; Dobby's old master is very bad, but what is you to be doing with Dobby's bad master?"

"We'll just keep him for a while," shrugged Apollo. "Lo, Sirius, Dudley. Happy New Year!"

"This is Dobby," Pallas said cheerily.

"We gathered that," Sirius muttered.

The witch ignored him. "He's going to be working here, and don't be surprised if two more house-elves show up. We offered them jobs." (Sure enough, the next day two house-elves did move in. Sirius found them arguing with Kreacher over who got to make his lunch.)

"Enough of that, we've got a prisoner to stash!" laughed Apollo. "To the dungeons!"

* * *

Daphne walked through her family estates with a tiny smile on her face.

It had been three days since her rescue from Malfoy and two days since she'd been released from St. Mungo's. The Healers claimed that nothing was physically wrong with her; she'd just attempted accidental magic, probably some kind of involuntary Apparition, that had run afoul of the prison's wards and destabilized her core. Fortunately, she was perfectly fine now, though rather annoyed at how Astoria kept following her. Speaking of which….

"I'm _fine, _Tori," she sighed.

There was a tiny scuffling sound as her sister peeked around the door. She looked rather embarrassed.

When Tori had found out that her future father-in-law had kidnapped her sister, she'd been heartbroken. At first she hadn't wanted to believe that Draco had anything to do with it, but the Daily Prophet had corrected _that _delusion. Daphne, who was still hospitalized at the time, had then held a long discussion about what Draco was really like. It had taken many tears and denials, but the end result was that Harry's "clean up Slytherin House" campaign had another Greengrass supporter. After all, if Harry Potter was Draco's arch-nemesis (Tori's words, not hers), he had to be a wonderful person.

Even better, the betrothal agreement had been destroyed. That was a mixed blessing, though- Daphne was fairly certain she'd heard Tori trying to convince their parents that Harry would make a wonderful husband….

The elder sister smiled. Yes, Tori was a bit of a featherhead, but she loved her anyways.

"Are you going to follow me to the Longbottoms' home?" Daphne teased gently.

"No."

"I thought not. Neville should be here in about five minutes." Hopefully he wouldn't coddle her. Daphne was heartily sick of being cossetted.

As if on cue, the fireplace flared green. For a second it crackled merrily before disgorging the shape of Neville Longbottom onto the carpet. He was still coughing from the journey, but he seemed happier than Daphne had ever seen him. In fact, the Gryffindor was almost dancing with excitement.

Then he saw Astoria, and his face fell.

The younger Greengrass giggled. "Ooh… Daphne's got a _boyfriend_!" Still laughing gleefully, she darted out of the room, undoubtedly to tell their parents.

Neville blushed. "Er… does the house have any anti-Portkey wards?"

His "girlfriend" raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

The Gryffindor's voice dropped. "Because we're not going to my house. We- well, you'll see when we get there." He was grinning again, almost bouncing with anticipation.

Well, at least _Neville _would never kidnap her, especially not since her family knew she was with him. They were probably going to visit Harry or something- her parents still hadn't lifted their ban on contacting him, though Astoria was trying to change that. "No, there are no anti-Portkey wards."

The grin widened. "Excellent." Neville grabbed something from his pocket. Daphne peered closer; it was a golden oak leaf. For some reason, she had the feeling that it was very, very old.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course," his friend murmured, and reached out to touch the Portkey.

"_Ad Insulam Fundatorum." _

The familiar tugging sensation pulled at Daphne's navel, but she ignored it. Like many purebloods, she spoke enough Latin to understand what Neville had said. _Ad Insulam Fundatorum…_ "to the island of the founders…." Founders of what?

The Portkey dropped them off in the cold, snowy outdoors. Several feet ahead stood an ancient stone fort.

"C'mon! They're waiting for us!"

"They being?"

"You'll see."

Well, 'they' would probably be inside, and it was rather chilly out. Besides, though this probably wasn't a simple visit to Harry or Blaise or even Hermione (she doubted any of them lived in a stone castle), she trusted Neville.

Besides, their other friends were waiting for them just inside the building. They were grinning too, but no one was smiling more widely than the woman whom Daphne had never seen before. She recognized the description, though: golden eyes shot through with black slit-pupils, long dark hair, pointed teeth, tall and slender and dressed in green. She was one of the rescuers.

"Daphne," Neville said, trying to curb his exuberance with forced solemnity, "I'd like you to meet Lady Saysa of the Chamber, Queen of Serpents, Servant of the Four, Guardian of the Prophecies. Saysa, this is Daphne Greengrass-" (the smile was back) "-Daughter of Frost."

"An interesting introduction," Daphne murmured. She smiled. "On behalf of the House of Greengrass, I thank you for rescuing me from Lucius Malfoy."

The Lady of the Chamber smiled. "You are very welcome," she said softly.

Blaise chuckled. "Now that _that's _out of the way, it's time for the good stuff."

The next few hours were filled with revelation upon revelation, the truth about the last year and a half, and the truth of what had happened over a thousand years ago. Harry began by telling about how he'd grown up with snakes and introducing her to Sisith, the dark serpent wound around his shoulders. He told her about the Sorting Hat, about how confused he'd been to have another man's memories. He told her about Sisith's hunt for the basilisk, and how, one day in December, the serpent had found her.

"I'd like to see this basilisk," Daphne said dryly. What Harry was saying about his childhood and Sorting and even his strange memories made sense- she always had wondered where he'd learned everything- but a basilisk hiding in Hogwarts?

"To the Chamber, then?" asked Blaise. "It's too small here, and I'd rather stay inside."

Harry shrugged. "Well, we were going to go there anyways."

Two minutes later, Daphne and her friends were standing inside the legendary Chamber of Secrets.

Saysa closed her eyes. For a moment, she was still, but then she seemed to _melt._ Hair shrunk, clothing folded into skin. Arms and legs blurred into her body. Within just a few seconds, she had become a sixty-foot snake.

Daphne felt like kicking herself. Neville had introduced the woman as "Lady of the Chamber, Queen of Serpents," and she did have a rather serpentine look about her- but in Daphne's defense, it really WAS unheard of for a basilisk to become human. "How?" she squeaked.

"To make a long story short, _someone _let her drink the Animagus potion." Hermione glared at Harry.

"I said I was sorry."

"Hmph."

Daphne was too stunned to pay attention to the byplay. Saysa's transformation confirmed everything they'd said, and some instinct said that things would only get wilder. "I… see. Er- what happens next?"

"Hagrid decides to raise a baby dragon in his wooden hut."

The story of Norbert(a) was both comical and believable. Yes, Hagrid would do something like that.

But the story about Harry facing Voldemort at the end of that year and discovering that his "ancestral memories" belonged to the Dark Lord was even less credible than the basilisk.

"Enough!" Daphne interrupted. "I would _greatly_ appreciate it if you told me the truth, instead of all these lies." She thought of how everyone had been grinning, obviously in anticipation of a prank. How foolish she'd been to trust them!

"_Morsmordre,"_ Harry said quietly. A _very _familiar serpent-and-skull floated out of his wand. "Believe me now?" He flicked his wand; a brilliant red stone flew into his free hand. "The Dark Mark and Philosopher's Stone should be proof enough." To demonstrate, he transformed a random pebble into solid gold.

Daphne decided to believe him. "How?" she repeated softly.

"I'm not really certain," Harry admitted. "I think it has something to do with how I'm the real Boy-Who-Lived."

Daphne was not even surprised at that. A detached, analytical part of her mind noted that she was probably suffering from severe suspension of disbelief due to information overload.

Her friends picked up their story.

Their summer had been rather boring, but things started getting weird again around Halloween. Thousand-year-old prophecies? The Winter Queen of the _Fae_ had given them new forms (which they had used to break her out of Malfoy's house)_?_ Covert meetings with centaur archons? A Muggle-born throwing a birthday party for Slytherin's monster?

It was utterly preposterous, too ridiculous to be true. Yet it was also too insane to be a lie.

Then the oddness reached its climax. "But Saysa said that there were supposed to be five people in my team," Harry explained. "We had the Lightning Speaker," he gestured at himself, "the Prince of Flowers," Neville grinned sheepishly. Apparently Daphne wasn't the only one with a hard time believing everything. "…the Smoking Mirror," Blaise waved, "and Truth's Messenger," Hermione nodded, "but we didn't have the Daughter of Frost."

"I see," Daphne muttered. "You believe that I am the fulfillment of a thousand-year-old prophecy that no one except an equally old basilisk has ever heard of. That is absurd." Yet why can't I doubt you?

Perhaps it was seeing Saysa's true form. Perhaps it was the Philosopher's Stone or Harry's Dark Mark. Perhaps they had drugged her or the kidnapping had driven her mad. Whatever the reason, _she believed them._ It was absurd, it could probably get her checked into a psychiatric hospital, but she knew they were speaking the truth.

She shook her head, remembered how Harry and Blaise had once approached her about cleaning up Slytherin House. This was just another business proposition, that was all- certainly wilder than what they'd suggested a year ago, but still just another business proposition.

They were talking at her, trying to make her believe what she knew already. Daphne ignored them, thinking. Just a very ambitious business venture, that was all. Forget about the prophecies and basilisks, just focus on the professional aspect. She was a Greengrass, after all; this was what she'd been raised for.

"What exactly does being this 'Daughter of Frost' entail?" she finally blurted out.

The others froze. They'd undoubtedly been expecting her to protest or threaten them with Aurors or something. That she hadn't done so was quite a shock.

Blaise was the first to recover. Laughing, he commented, "Yeah, I can just tell you're a Greengrass. Oh, Merlin, 'what does it entail'?" Then he frowned. "I guess it means you're stuck with us."

Hermione snorted. "Of course it doesn't! It means that she's going to help us overthrow Dumbledore and Voldemort and transform the wizarding world! Er- you will, won't you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"There is always choice," Saysa said quietly. Daphne started; she hadn't noticed the basilisk return to her humanoid form. "However, we would greatly appreciate it if you chose quickly. There are things I must say to you five."

She sighed. If the wizarding world went to Hades in a handbasket because she refused to help- and if the Founders had hidden a basilisk beneath the school to help with it, that was entirely too likely- she would never forgive herself. "We will negotiate the specifics later," she murmured, "but yes, I will help you."

Blaise muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Greengrasses." Daphne ignored him, turned her attention to Saysa. Neville quietly explained, "She wanted to talk with us after we beat Malfoy, but Harry thought it would be best to wait for you."

The serpent-woman shook her head. "First, Harry must explain what Horcruxes are and why I had to obey Riddle."

"But you didn't," Hermione pointed out. "Not this time, at least. Do Horcruxes count?"

A smile. "That's part of what I must say."

It was a very grim Harry Potter who quietly told his newest ally all about Voldemort's Horcruxes. Daphne listened with a sense of growing horror. She'd always thought that Mark's- er, Harry's- defeat of the Dark Lord had permanently ended a reign of terror. If he returned, as seemed inevitable…. It did not bear thinking about.

In comparison, Hermione's tale about binding Saysa to the Slytherin line seemed almost tame. It really was a good plan, though in retrospect, if it had allowed Voldemort access to a new weapon, they probably shouldn't have done it.

"So what do you have to tell us?" Hermione finally asked.

Saysa hesitated. "The good news first," she muttered under her breath. A smile crossed her face. "Do you remember what you said to me on our mission, Hermione?" she asked. "Actually, it was more of an order."

"Yes. I told you not to kill Malfoy, and you came to your senses and didn't."

"No. I _couldn't_ kill him, no more than I could have freed myself from Riddle's bondage."

Dead silence reigned in the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione's eyes were huge. "But- that's- I'm Muggle-born! I can't- only a Slytherin- the biological kind, not the House- could do that!"

"It has been a thousand years since my master's death. There must have been at least one Squib in his line since then."

"But- _me?- _the Heiress of Salazar Slytherin!"

Blaise burst out laughing. Hermione and Saysa glared. "Sorry," the black boy chortled, "it's just that all this time we've been laughing at Voldemort for searching for some imaginary rival Heir, and it turns out he was right all along!"

The others (except Daphne, who was still suffering from information overload and related psychological phenomena) began to grin. Then they chuckled. Then they were howling with laughter. Even Daphne found herself chuckling, though not as loudly as the others.

"And the other Horcrux, the diadem," commented Neville. "Didn't it try ordering Saysa around? But she didn't obey because Hermione told her she didn't have to listen to him anymore!"

"I always wondered about that," confessed Blaise. "This is _brilliant!_ We should un-Petrify Malfoy just to rub it in his face."

Saysa stopped laughing. "No," she said quietly. "We cannot release him."

Harry grimaced. "Time for the bad news, I take it?"

The Guardian grimaced. "I have told you of my second sight, yes?" At their nods, she continued, "I viewed Lucius with my second sight to see what affects the Horcrux had on his aura." She scowled. "Foul! Only once have I seen _any_thing like it." She flinched. "And that is the bad news." She turned to the youngest human. "Harry… I think that your scar is a Horcrux."

The world froze. Hermione and Daphne were white as sheets, Neville's hands were in fists, Blaise's eyes were nearly popping out of his head. Slowly, very slowly, Harry reached up to touch his scar. "Well," he said quietly, "that explains the memories."

"I suppose it does," breathed Hermione. "Oh _Harry-"_ She enveloped him in a hug.

"That is why I insisted on keeping Malfoy," Saysa explained quietly. "If Harry is a Horcrux- I might be wrong- we will need a way to extract it without killing him. I reasoned that we could use Malfoy as a test subject."

"Good idea," Harry said quietly. "I'll work on isolating it through Occlumency- it makes sense it's a Horcrux; I should have guessed- I want it _out._"

"We all do," whispered Saysa. "And we will succeed."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "But you _can't _be a Horcrux!" she exclaimed. "It's a dead giveaway that Mark isn't the Boy-Who-Lived. Don't you think that Dumbledore would have noticed a piece of Voldemort's soul in your head? Don't you think he-" She froze again, horror freezing her features. "No," the Ravenclaw breathed. "He does know about- about the Horcrux. And I'll bet my wand he knows you're the real Boy-Who-Lived."

"So why did he say it was Mark? I mean, if V-Voldemort ever returns, which you guys say he will, he'll just tell the truth," Neville wondered.

"Would anyone believe Voldemort?" wondered Hermione. "I mean, as opposed to the great and good Albus Dumbledore, who has _never_ been wrong before."

"But that doesn't explain why he did it in the first place!" Neville yelled.

"Because," whispered Blaise, his voice shaking, "the Horcrux has to die, and the easiest way to accomplish that is by killing Harry. Oh _Merlin…._"

Neville understood. "He's a sacrifice!"

"Not just a sacrifice," said Harry quietly. "He wants Mark to kill me."

* * *

Dun dun dun…. *insert dramatic music here*

I was originally going to do one more chapter in this book, but now I'm not. Book 3 is going to start several months after the conclusion of this book, but several important things happen in those months. Other than writing another, totally uninteresting book that takes place in those months and has NO POINT other than to explain a few things that show up in Book 3, the only thing I could think of was writing a series of one-shots that go behind the scenes and cover important information. It'll be called "Behind and Between," and it'll also include things from Saysa's past and missing scenes.

-Antares


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